Pitchfork

The 23rd hexagram of the I Ching is commonly known as "Splitting Apart", the point in a cycle where upheaval and disintegration enters in. The number 23, heralded by many an occultist and rag-tag philosopher is often considered a magical number associated with change, the point in a series where new energy comes in to transform the pre-existing condition and change the trajectory. A pop example of these esoteric notions, sadly, may be beloved New York indie rockers Blonde Redhead's seventh full-length, 23.

Ironically, this career-facelift will most likely be the album that catapults this band to the red carpet-- more record sales, more exposure, higher profile tours. But serious Redhead heads familiar with the band's past forward-thinking oeuvre of magical melancholy will most likely catch a wince-able whiff of disintegration. Somewhere underneath all the high-gloss, ornamental swirlies and lacquered doilies are haphazardly camouflaged well-written songs.

Essentially, 23 consists of simply tunes much in the vein of the international trio's high water mark, 2000's Melody of Certain Damaged Lemons, which found the once angularly screeching Sonic Youth/Unwound-worshiping post-no-wavers breathing deep and relaxing. The songs are similar to 2004's almost as good Misery Is a Butterfly, which took said gems of art-pop blueness, but draped them in heavy orchestration and flirted with an almost too-lush production. Consider Butterfly the unsubtle foreshadowing: Allegedly, somewhere during the course of the making of the self-produced 23, Blonde Redhead got lost; unsure if their early mixes were going in the right direction the band brought in famed alterna-rock producer Alan Moulder (U2, Depeche Mode, My Bloody Valentine, Smashing Pumpkins) for a tune-up.

Whether the Pace twins-- Amedeo (voice-guitars) and Simone (drums)-- and foxy frontwoman Kazu Makino (voice-guitars) were already drifting toward overblown production before Moulder's involvement is unclear, but the producer's paws are everywhere. Take, for example, the title track "23" where seriously My Bloody Valentine–jonesing guitars and hypno whatzits whirl around Kazu's eyes-wide-shut ethereal unintelligible words, sounding like the coolest new shoegaze band on the block, but not the quirky subtle architects of wistfullness we've come to know and love. Another mistep would be "The Dress", where traceable stains of previous BR dance-y hanky panky (such as Lemon's "This Is Not") gets mired in electro keyboard chirps and droning draft-in-the-brain synths. You can't blame a band for trying new things: "Silently" sounds like a beach-walking Blondie track with girl-group harmonies; "Publisher" takes a Police-like drum attack and the trio's trademark minor-chord guitar lines but pads them with odd electronica effluvium; and "Top Ranking" smooshes J-pop cutesiness against Tropicalia breeziness. And then there's "Heroine", with its honey-I-shrunk-Kazu-into-a-Buggles-song samba. Innovative? Sure, but when all the day-glo splatters, candy-coated swooshes, and chocolate waterfalls obscure the individualized songs underneath, what's the point? 23 coulda/shoulda been the album where Blonde Redhead added on that much needed new wing to their mansion of moody cool craftsmanship. But instead, constructed right in front, blocking the entire view of the ornate and majestic building they took over 13 years to build, is a garish warbly and weird Frank Gehry-esque monstrosity.