Strange Passage

Another braid in the Massachusetts indie belt draws tight with the new record from Strange Passage. The band adds some darker shading to the Meritorio stable, still committed to the label’s litany of UK jangles, but slipping towards the academic underbelly of the late ‘80s. The band lays into the library lurking of The Feelies, The Church, and McCarthy, with a flair for the darkly dramatic that can’t help but step through the shadows of Felt. A Folded Sky is short, but unfurls its vitality in short order over six tracks. Coiffed and collared, the songs are propelled with an urgency that thrums through the rhythm section. The jangle connotation is used a bit more loosely here. The strum is strong with the band, but Strange Passage turn towards something more complex, a touch of Athens’ collegiate crop in their lineage as well. The album weaves guitars into something less straightforward than some of their labelmates, but certainly something no less potent.

The album drapes the listener in dreary daydreams, velveteen hooks that sigh and slump against the speakers. It’s the kind of measured charm that’s usually reserved for revered, foundational bands, but on their third release Strange Passage makes it feel rather effortless. The only real drawback to A Folded Sky is that, as it draws listeners into its overcast arms, it lets go just as quickly. The album is more of a mini-album, but it doesn’t waste a second with what’s here, a spotless collection of songs that could each function as a solid single. The record feels like a tipping point, a moment of “I knew them when.” Best to get in on the ground floor and hold on from here.

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