Cymbals Eat Guitars
What starts with an explosion ends with a drony, drawn-out whimper that in its aimlessness leaves us disappointed, because it all began so well. ‘And The Hazy Sea’ displays all the characteristics that have people drooling over New York’s indie rockers Cymbals Eat Guitars – urgent, youthful vocals coupled with arrangements and guitar riffs built together from a bulky toolbox covered in Pavement, Grandaddy and Deerhunter stickers. “Will you take the wheel for a while/ I’m suddenly real tired,” singer and guitarist Joseph D’Agostino sweetly pleads, and you just want to get into your Nissan Micra and ride it down the nearest deserted highway. D’Agostino’s face is coated with sweat after a couple of songs, and no wonder – he jerks himself from a squat to a stiff salute to the microphone and back again, and handles his guitar the way a butcher handles stray bones. The rest of the band go about their business with a knowing smirk rather than D’Agostino’s contortions, and sometime after the lovely, meandering Jonny Greenwod jangle of ‘Indiana’, the melodies become a bit too derivative and the jamming too directionless to stand up to the initial bang. Spread the dynamite more evenly boys and you’ll have us in the palm of your hand.