Pitchfork

Not a closet. Not a corner. The Timeout Drawer, for God's sake. Just how bad do you have to be to get stuffed in there? It's hard to think of the band in terms of punishment, because their sound is far from transgressive. These four guys might get tossed in the post-rock pile, but what they make is unabashed space-rock, although not in the abstract jam-band sense. They soak their instrumentals in dense synthesizer tones. They feed their guitars through a thicket of effects pedals. And if the smooth results don't sound much like the future, well, it's because the celestial paths were first explored in the 1970s.

A Difficult Future begins with electronic piano chords hinting at soulfulness, like the opening of Belle and Sebastian's "Don't Leave the Light On, Baby." But then, in washes the monolithic Moog. The prog-dwellers and krautrockers of the 70s shared a simple secret: analog synth, with that slight delay in the decay of its notes, sure sounds great when you're under the influence. And so the Timeout Drawer continue in that vein, each song buzzing and burping in harmonies that would cue reminiscent tears (or flashbacks!) for old Hawkwind fans. You can hear traces of descendants of the sound, too, especially when bass, guitar and keyboards converge in epic choruses, conjuring up the overwrought sincerity of Signals-era Rush. For contemporaries, think Air's Virgin Suicides score, the best Pink Floyd album never made.

The technical proficiency of the musicians is near flawless. For nearly an hour, they weave layers of drones, distortion and the clarion call of their synths into a seamless mix. But for all the rocking numbers, there are also moments when the sentimentality of a melody becomes cloying. They don't quite breach Vangelis territory, but "His Sailing Days Are Over But He Can't Forget the Sea," for instance, wouldn't sound out of place in a planetarium's laser light show. And "Finding a Place in the Sun" could be the soundtrack to Star Hustler! I can just hear that guy's voice now: "When the moon reaches its apex, we're going to lie in the penumbra, eat some of these fabulous magic mushrooms I found, and listen to the Timeout Drawer. You should really come along!"

The Timeout Drawer used to have a singer. I can't imagine that hearing his vocals would have dramatically altered my perspective on the band. But lyrics might have added a human dimension to a group whose sound otherwise emits a sterile neutrality, as if radiated from the Nebula of the Ever-Present, All-Encompassing Soup of the Universe. In the end, you wonder what (if anything) these songs mean, or how you're supposed to feel about the whole affair. At its worst, A Difficult Future exhibits all the post-rock-extra-lite tendencies of schlock like Tristeza and the Album Leaf. But at their best, these fellows make extremely competent, mercurial compositions that don't flinch away from their retro stylings. Here's to a future that never happened.