Folks keep calling Mi Media Naranja "cinematic," and, well... it sure is. It's downright cinematic. There's simply no doubt about it. And yet, it's infinitely more interesting than anything John Williams ever wrote.

Labradford have invented the musical equivilent of the mysteriously abandoned small town. Old signs hang loosely from their creaky hinges, most of the windows have been smashed out and the wind seems to blow harder than normal. It brings you down in a comforting way, like you've just stumbled across an old picture of a four-year-old you and your since deceased mother.

More accurately, Naranja's like traveling the dusty backroads of Athens, Georgia and finding Michael Stipe and Vic Chesnutt laying dead in the dirt. Initially, you're shocked and horrified. Then you realize you're gonna be on MTV News. Luckily, Labradford seem content to let you tag along on their tragic magic carpet ride through seven untitled tracks of middle- of- nowhere lonliness accentuated by the reverb of twangy guitars and pianos. Just don't talk.