Flying Faces of the Night by: Ed Butler Tue:01-Apr-08 Label: Menlo Park Year: 2008 WB rating 64 out of 100

To paraphrase Dylan, how many spins does a record need before you know if it’s good? Rhetorical, indeed, but it is a salient question when considering the merits of Faces of the Night, Flying’s sophomore release. After 2006’s ramshackle, scattershot opus debut, Just-One-Second-Ago-Broken-Eggshell, Flying’s future direction was as unpredictable as the surprise drum fills and out-of-nowhere left turns. The result, while more cohesive and linear than its predecessor, creates a dilemma when assessing its appeal.

Most albums can be enjoyed in a cut-and-dried fashion. If one is in the mood for its idiosyncrasies and wiles then it works. If not, then not. The occasional great record can create a mood, or alter the mood of the listener to ensure a memorable experience. This second effort by the Brooklyn trio is none of those things. A riddle wrapped in an enigma, if you will. On one listen, it’s bewildering. On another, it’s exciting; on a third, frustrating.

Faces of the Night is classic neo-hippie, absurdist indie folk, channeling Deerhoof and The Unicorns, confusing and abstract. The beatnik drumming, eastern guitars and sporadic spring noises on ‘One Eyed Son’, the tuneless falsetto on the same song, the demonic circus tune of ‘Body Bent’ all baffle while occasionally thrilling the listener.

Second time around, the rapturously pretty intro to ‘The Wrong Hearts’ gently caresses the eardrums, and the creepy, childlike bassline of the album’s six-minute centerpiece, ‘Firetruck’ is quirky enough to please the most avid avant-garde pop enthusiast, before the guitars kick in and the choir of stoned folkies hums along, charming the pants of any who’ll listen, so long as they can appreciate the abstruse and eccentric.

After that, more flaws appear. In fact, what becomes increasingly apparent is the inconsistency that Flying seem to bring almost intentionally to every song. Not once is a track genuinely engaging for its entire length. At some point a purposely off key vocal, unnecessary digression or jarring counterpoint with a seemingly random instrument will interpose itself on what was an enjoyable romp, breaking the concentration, halting momentum.

But then again on another listen, ‘Body Bent’s wacky breakdown/outro catches the ear, quickly followed by the soothingly melodic flutes of ‘Poor Simone’. It is on this listen, that the closing track makes itself known, ‘Morning Song’ being the clear highlight – Simon and Garfunkel meets a heavily sedated Captain Beefheart. Ending what has been a torrid relationship on a high, Sally to the listeners’ Harry, possibly even an indication of future directions.

Coming from a band which so clearly revels in being unpredictable, Faces of the Night is strangely unsurprising in its unrelenting oddness. However, the frustration this causes also engenders everything endearing about the record. While you always just know that something unnecessary and zany is just around the corner, there’s just enough to make the experience enjoyable. The bizarre, through the looking glass tales of clowns and evil animals, the cheap keyboards and expected brevity all provide reasons to plough on through the rough patches.

On their second album, Flying have discovered maturity, direction and structure, whether by design or accident is of little concern. It hasn’t provided them with a linear narrative, or a linear sound, in fact the only predictable thing on Faces of the Night is the total lack of consistency, but Flying have created another addition to the small but distinguished canon of modern beatniks.

But then, of course, the album earns another spin, and now…