Rubik
Dada bandits
Fullsteam Records/Paper Tiger AV
Critics are apt to hear "Dada bandits" opener "Goji berries" and label Rubik as frenzied pop auteurs, a sort of Scandinavian Animal Collective. And "Goji berries" does go from screamo-addled Beatles to punchy-drunk keys punctuated by Sufjan flutes, to a Dan Bejar saloon romp that segues into a typically eastern Beirut horn jam. While "Goji"'s schizoid scheme is certainly noteworthy -- it seamlessly switches gears and genres while never betraying its Nordic pop sensibility -- it's hardly metonymical of the album at large. Yes, Rubik's "Bandits" lifts considerably from all of the best in blog-ready sounds, but they do so with the canvases of entire songs. What results is not, strangely, a sugar-coated Scando take on guitar indie, but a rolodex of an album with a virtuoso aesthetic. Rarely is a musical contact called upon twice, and even after repeated listens, you're left reeling at the incredible scope of an album that's stacked like the Yankees.
"Goji berries" phantom-tempo midsection precedes the Canadian guitar battalion of "Radiants", "Wasteland" borrows Idioteque percussion before settling for an anthemic power pop chorus. "Fire Age" and "Richard Branson's crash landing" are album highlights, the former plotting Stars' vocals around a ska-synth breakdown, the latter a glimpse of Scandinavian twee perfection. Its swirling synths wash beneath upbeat melodies and falsetto-and-horns chorus to convince you that this is what Loney Dear's "Dear John" should have been. Rubik reloads and refires, each song an impressive foray into new sonic territory, strung together by catchy hooks and wiry guitars, underpinned by the astonishing depth of the arrangements. It's only on the fifth or six listen that you even hear the complex synth arpeggios buried under "Karhu junassa", or the jaunty riffs beneath "Fire age".
There's little bad to be said about this album. The mix occasionally favors layered instrumentation over Artturi Taira's vocals -- much of the album finds Taira swimming in his own arrangements. While that's likely a tactic to secure more Finnish listeners in their native country, it obscures the beauty of Taira's lyrics. His voice can adequately be characterized as "British Effeminate" indicative of all of those post-Radiohead mope-and-hope rockers that plagued the aughts in Western Europe. But Taira's falsetto exchanges their currency of faux-pathos for a well-placed sense of urgency, his yelps best on "Karhu junassa" and "Radiants" when buttressed by instrumental imitation.
So where is this album? It's tailored for the blogs in almost every way, it has registered heaps of e-praise, yet Rubik has no plans to return to North . Maybe this album will be saved from obscurity by a forward-thinking movie director or cell-phone marketing exec, and maybe it won't. I might just like it better if it remains a diamond in the rough -- quietly pretending to 2010's indie throne.
- Nathan Keegan
