Pitchfork

It requires a peculiar extreme of self-assurance for two guys to name their band Jennifer Gentle, thereby ensuring themselves a continuous career of potential listeners mistaking them for a solo female act. However, you don't have to listen long to the crazed psych-pop created by the Italian duo of Marco Fasolo and Alessio Gastaldello to realize that these fellows possess a ridiculous abundance of just such confidence. Valende is Jennifer Gentle's domestic debut, following two self-released albums back home, and it reveals a manic, uncommon glint in their inventive fires, the unmistakable fervid gleam which accompanies artists who know exactly what they're doing, even if the rest of us don't.

Syd Barrett fans should recognize the name Jennifer Gentle from a lyric in Pink Floyd's "Lucifer Sam", and if you think that's the end of the duo's Barrett allusions I'm afraid you're a woefully bad guesser. Thankfully, though, Valende proves Piper at the Gates of Dawn-era Floyd to be just one influence among many, and the rapturous melting pot of their sound also incorporates Joe Meek-inspired sci-fi daffiness, the adventurous instrumental textures of Nino Rota's film music, as well as tender-hearted loner-folk. And it's all combined with enough sheer homespun oddity that Jennifer Gentle's unique sound has even managed to awe the enlightened likes of the Sun City Girls and Acid Mothers Temple (whose Kawabata Makato has toured and cut a live radio session with the duo.)

The album opens with the relatively restrained ditty "Universal Daughter", a brief number with a melodic structure similar to that of Barrett's "Terrapin", sung by Marco in a heightened toothache pitch that suggests he may have just sucked all the helium out of the Goodyear blimp. Though actually more subtle and reined-in than much of the material from earlier Jennifer Gentle albums like 2002's Funny Creatures Lane, the initial rush of this track hits like a quick puff of laughing gas, and immediately sets the album's alien tone. Speaking of helium, the boys issue still more on the following "I Do Dream You", releasing it slowly from a toy balloon (every toddler's favorite instrument) as a solo in the middle of the frantic number, which otherwise sounds like a prime 13th Floor Elevator single played at 78 rpm, complete with hairpin organ licks.

After this breathless introduction clears away that first wave of big-game jitters, Jennifer Gentle settle down enough to allow Valende out for some fresh air, using acoustic guitar, glockenspiel, and a phased-out violin to conjure sadly sweet pastoral visions on "Circle of Sorrow", Field recordings of chirping birdies are brought in on the lovely folk sprawl of "The Garden", which is split into two sections. Although on acoustic guitar Marco lacks the technical prowess of a Ben Chasny or Matt (MV) Valentine, his enthusiasm and melodic economy help make these genteel excursions memorable. Less successful is the extended free-form track "Hessesopoa", a cacophonous improvisation that oddly enough feels like the most retro cut on the album, recalling the instrumental freak-outs of the Red Crayola's Parable of Arable Land in a manner that bears little new fruit. Clocking in at more than seven minutes, "Hessesopoa" does little to reward repeat listens, and its appearance mid-album unfortunately slows Valende's momentum considerably.

The two quickly recover from that misstep, however, and the album closes with the insane cartoonish glee of "Nothing Makes Sense", where the boys' sped-up voices eventually reach true Alvin and the Chipmunks velocity. And although it's the type of conclusion that might just prompt your annoyed spouse to come into the room to ask, "what the hell IS that?" something tells me that the men of Jennifer Gentle would proudly consider such a response to be a resounding success.