Pitchfork

Scotland's Aereogramme has always purported a metal/punk/emo identity crisis with flair, but on the follow-up to their beautiful EP Seclusion, the conviction behind their mood swings has itself gone diffident. This LP has its corseted moments of elegance totaling about two and a half tracks, but the verbosity of the title is a premonition of what's filling in the gaps. The majority of Heart is a sulky melting pot of all the elements we admire of this group. In between the whines and montages, they wedge themselves nicely into their own respectably mixed-up genre. But for the first time, there is an affectation for which there appears to be no balance of virtuosity.

The twinkling guitars and smoke-and-mirrors drum thumps of tracks like "Trenches" and "Nightmares" are paired with washes of lyrical melodrama that get lost in the tantrum. Long, repeated phrases like "I love you but I can't let you go" and "My head is caving in" are drowned by the lachrymose thunderstorm of drum, string, and bass raining down on pretty much the entire album. There are too many special effects surrounding the messages-- Craig B's penchant for preadolescent vocals included. Most of the time it's hard to feel anything but ornery, as a full-grown person being swaddled by an overbearing mother (or boyfriend).

There is a sense that even diehard fans will find something amiss here: loudest moments too depressive, quiet moments too timid. The guitar and violin phrasing on opener "Conscious Life for Coma Boy" are uninspired, with a stifling range and underdeveloped melody. It's nothing like previous openers-- the abrasive punk of Sleep and Release's "Indiscretion #243" or Seclusion's triumphant "Inkwell". Scattered songs are increasingly opaque shades of the same: the percussive strings on "Finding A Light", or the stock piano round of "Barriers", both of which fail to lure. The production here is cleaner, giving the soft instrumentation and happy major keys ample room to breathe. But it was the muddled, invasive and sinister quality of the band's last two releases that finessed a hodgepodge to such delightful effect.

What the band can still do with delicacy is, perhaps, all the more worth noting. "Exits" also refrains from the winding, explorative melodies of yore, but the descending three-note piano loop, its echo in the electric guitar, and the primer of a string section are something even great cynics will find inescapably lovely. Late entry "The Running Man", with its dripping, urgent synth line and boundless, atmospheric bass, is original and highly addictive. Together with "Exits", it's the heart and soul of the album, the impervious voice in a crowd of pomp and fluff.