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The token swell to storm that has come to characterize the post-rock set seems mailed in here; the build-ups are never ominous, the explosion of guitars never reach the near cacophonous bliss that their heroes so effortlessly visit.
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Most indie-somethings will scoff defiantly upon hearing the note-for-note schlepping of excerpts from Mogwai's Young Team or the Sonic Youth-isms dripping from some of the guitar build-ups. Still, the members of Kinski, like a stubborn weed in a thicket of thorns, grow past their numerous predecessors at times, unearthing moments of pure psychotropic bliss.
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Too often, Airs Above Your Station feels scattered and fades into the background too easily.
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It's all too much like a fumbling Pink Floyd tribute, continually reaching a point where the psychedelica fails to follow up with the required kick, allowing the whole fragile structure to collapse into self-indulgence and bathetic kitsch.
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Overtly aping Mogwai, Jessamine and the entirely mediocre Bardo Pond, Kinski's aimless, ten-minute jams fail to deliver sonically or structurally, content to wallow in self-satisfied discovery, using distortion pedals to mask their junior varsity musicianship.