There are two types of BOC songs: the slo-mo head-nodder and the sublime, formless glint. The former works best as a glazed come-down come-on, all patient rhythmic repletion and now-you-see-it melody; the latter is a pious preacher's soundtrack to his own death. "Dayvan Cowboy" is that unique BOC broad stroke that tackles both archetypes within its five-minute span-- Cliff's Notes to the self-mythologizing giants' recondite, new-age appeal.

Gazing at their polymer moon-shoes, the duo initiates this space oddity in full-on haze mode with a Fenneszian daydream of trickling distortion and ambient echo. And just at the point of bore, a bluesy guitar strum heralds part two of this cryptic headphase. The exacting beat announces itself with a rare brashness (relatively speaking-- still more trip than hip) as it's steered by the newest gadget in the BOC treasure trove of infinite calm: an undertow string arrangement. Albeit more economical and bipolar than usual, "Dayvan Cowboy" is BOC in a bottle-- a pitter-patter of sanitized, well-packaged escapism from building entropy.