A record so fundamentally introverted it refuses to so much as look you in the eye, Lights Out, Lonely Birds, the second album from Texas band St. Yuma, definitely has its own specific charms, Unfurling at a funereal place, it reminded me of East River Pipe in its head on chest, deeply inset melancholy.
There's definitely some beauty to be gleaned from this kind of pursuit. Essentially predicated on self-absorbtion of the most clinical kind, St.Yuma somehow make a kind of winning hand out of it through the sheer strength of their songs and their ability to construct and maintain the warmest, most claustrophobic mood imaginable.
Telling the band to snap out of it is clearly not going to be any use at all. I found I took to Lights Out, Lonely Birds the longer it played. Not an album that any mother wants to hear on coming into her teenage son's bedroom perhaps, but I definitely think I'll be coming back to this. Forty minutes of sublime ennui.
Good find, Bruce! Like this very much.
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