polaroids of androids

Sound Team self-released many CD-R's and cassettes prior to laying down tracks for their Capitol-released full-length, Movie Monster, in 2006. A promising major-label debut for the Austin, Texas band was almost certain.

And there it ends. As Pitchfork slaughtered the album, I became intrigued. Sure Movie Monster was messy, but it was also very under-appreciated by most. Without a chance to redeem themselves, Capitol immediately culled them from the label and Sound Team parted ways. Ex-bassist for the band, Bill Baird, performed under various monikers after that, before tagging himself Sunset - or {{{Sunset}}}, with three annoying braces on either side - apparently representing waves of sunlight.

Adding braces to the name surely won't increase talent. But it will stand out. That's how I discovered Baird's new project anyway - it simply caught my eye. But Bright Blue Dream is an album that does not come off as a desperate ploy to win back the critics. The option to avenge Sound Team's murder by Capitol is nonexistent here. It seems Baird prefers to keep that in the past, having much more to say in the present, as a solo artist. Although the band name is eye-catching, the music shies from the spotlight. It impresses sans intention.

Baird's densely layered and repetitive psych-pop songs are delivered through Syd Barrett's haunted vocal style and encrusted in a sonic landscape with cosmic elements to attain intrigue. I Love My Job features witty lyrics presented earnestly and Eno-esque. It ends with Baird's vocals transforming into a robotic chant, as he tediously repeats the title of the track in an attempt to find meaning in his futile life, or simply, office job. As each song progresses, it becomes evident that Baird expresses himself through the perspective of a self-absorbed mind, unable to escape into nearby reality.

The centrepiece of the album is Man's Heart Complaint. It features a hopping bassline with grooving drums and continues the trend of eerie vocals beneath a lush sonic landscape. The surreal-folky Gulf of Mexico is the transition song of the album. As it's gentle ambiance dissolves into the 14-minute title track, the album changes completely. We now enter the dream-world and are trapped inside it by hypnosis. The instruments gel perfectly in this ambitious symphony that develops ever so slowly. If you make it through without skipping, Moebius will certainly test your patience. The 7-minute instrumental track concludes on guitar feedback that seems worth all the wait, yet lacks a much-needed release. But that is the point, as we remain unable to flee this dream.

Baird, along with an ensemble of guests, have produced a highly ambitious and moody record that defies genre - one that could easily be segmented into two sections (A: pop songs, B: experimental ambient.) As the final drone sounds however, it seems more intelligible that Bright Blue Dream be experienced as one cohesive whole instead.