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Grass Widow set the mood masterfully and never breaks it. Past Lives may be a short album that seems slight on first listen but as you play it again and again, it sinks in deeply and magically.
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This kind of detail-heavy album can make you feel like you're missing something if you're not paying attention. Each listen can run the risk of feeling incomplete. But by that same token, it also means it can feel new each time.
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It's thin sounding and cheaply made, and it's got soul for miles; it'll take you a while to know it.
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Past Time is a big step forward from the band's self-titled 2009 debut, both in songwriting and musical ability. The production is even more transparent and does an accurate job of presenting the band as they sound live: raw and immediate.
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Grass Widow have channeled a number of distinct influences, tones, and anxieties into an eccentric and strangely cohesive album. Past Time solidifies that there's nobody else out there right now who sound quite like them.
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Early Grass Widow gems like the haunting "Lulu's Lips" suggested a band that was really going to deliver one day. Past Time confirms those suspicions with firm resolve.
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Past Time is markedly more graceful than Grass Widow's self-titled LP--just wait for those voices to wrap around your brainstem.
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Past Time certainly isn't background music, but the vocalists' missives might be understood as simply the core of the band's sound--and perhaps something more, if you're able to divert your attention from the charms of the music.
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They've got the hooks, they've got the personality, and (at their best) they've got the songs. Their low fidelity is a choice for the album, not a way to plug into a movement. And while Past Time might not realize their sound as well as it could, when its working this is a sound that has no expiration date.
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UncutThere's a brooding undercurrent to their upbeat sound that echoes what darkwave scenesters like The xx are currently doing. [Nov 2010, p.90]
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Sure, there's the odd thoughtful spot of violin, like on "Give Me Shapes," but the record's relentless rawness eventually bleeds into a murky burble.