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ARTIST
TITLE
Schaum
FORMAT
CD

LABEL
CATALOG #
TR 411CD TR 411CD
GENRE
RELEASE DATE
9/21/2018

Unhappybirthday, continue their cycle of a new album every three years here with Schaum. It's an unusually prolific rate of output for a band as young as Unhappybirthday, yet wholly in keeping with their anachronistic nature. In contrast to most of their contemporaries in the class of 2010 who took to the stage, the next generation inspired by Beggar's Banquet, Factory, and ZickZack, the synthesizers and drum machine they borrowed were not tools of sheer irony or approximations of raging rebellion. The last Unhappybirthday album, Schauer, was released in 2015, influenced by Georges Perec's novel Un Homme Qui Dort (1967), a young man's meditation on melancholy, indifference, inertia. Here, they took the jangly pop of carefree youth and bestowed upon it a degree of earnestness and sincerity; traditional values perhaps, seen through the prism of today. Schaum is the trio's first album to have been created without the aid of a tape recorder. Working closely with Berlin producer Jonas Meyer, their sound has matured, shattering the raw lo-fi veneer of the past to explore complex spaces with unimagined agility and clarity. The dry baritone of Daniel Jahn conjures up images of hazy summer evenings and gossamer rain, evaporating before it touches the hot asphalt surface. Tobias Rutkowski's guitar is a conduit for deep-rooted desire, the likes of which has not surfaced since the Cocteau Twins. Diana Kim, who joined on bass in 2017, adds her own kinesthetic counterpoint to spherical keyboard motifs. If Schaum were a person you had met, you would be enraptured and helpless in equal measure, unable to find words for such magic. If the eight new tracks can be attributed to a particular genre, shoegaze comes closest, albeit with a sense of form skillfully distilled from the 1980s; a diaphanous essence found less in concrete, constituent parts and more in the work as a whole. There is a shimmer of the vitreous elegance once epitomized by David Sylvian, without actually sounding like Japan; an echo of Sade's silky stylishness without for a moment implying that this should be added to a cocktail party playlist. Instead, like the finest traces of perfume, a note here and there sparks recollections, hinting at the playful experimentation of Les Disques Du Crépuscule releases. The result is sophisticated pop, overcast with dreams, music falling like light on mother of pearl, a transient memory of moist, warm skin.