Pitchfork

Maybe it was the bitter cold, maybe it was the fleeting odor of burning wood or the miles of forest, but we found ourselves in a familiar position: debating relationships. Being of the optimist persuasion, I argued the benefits of looking forward, not letting the past ruin the future, and motorized sex toys. She, a mildly embittered and cynical gal, seemed determined to cling to her failures and drive hope out of her perspective. Heartbreaking, especially since my dream is to hold her in my arms for a long, soulful kiss...

...And into my hands falls Beulah. It was on my kitchen counter, quietly begging my attention away from her. I put it into the player, upstairs on a purple Sunday, my thoughts still running circles around her orbit. Imagine my wry amusement to stumble upon this acrylic gem of poppiness-- shiny, clean and vulnerable, not unlike the lust that has evolved into something better in the past months.

Kicked back and chillin', I let Beulah wash into my brain and it was nice. It turned out to be far more advanced than its predecessor. Beulah's 1997 release, Handsome Western States was a better- than- average pop record, seemingly recorded at home on a relatively low budget. But this new record... what was different about it? The liner notes supported what I heard: a whole mess of horns and strings, integrated into the tightly played, laid-back melodies that made Handsome Western States so awesome. Tremendously clean production further enhances this album, which leaves me wanting more after its painfully brief 34:00 running time.

Standouts include "Emma Blowgun's Last Stand," which has an extended intro that would be at home on a Tortoise album, breaks into a compellingly catchy melody built around a brass fanfare. Most tracks employ several levels of sound, giving what could have easily been merely "another indie pop record" astonishing depth and texture. The tone could best be called "tempered bouncy," never getting to an annoying level of repetition or predictability, but also nearly impossible to drive out of one's head after several listens. Oh, another good one just kicked in; "Ballad of the Lonely Argonaut," it's taking me on a trip into sleepiness...

...And in the dream Beulah is soundtracking the awkward moment of the hug gone to kiss, her small hands on my back, her hair falling upon her jacket, and the smell of sandalwood. The sky is amber, the Beulah boys are wrapping their tapestry of hopeful sound around us and, looking into her eyes, our lips touch...