Plano (CD)
At their best, the Aluminum Group craft gorgeously lush and airy chamber-pop on a par with the finest the genre has to offer; at their worst, they sound like a second-rate Magnetic Fields, with vocals eerily like the coffin-creaking of Stephen Merritt but without the biting lyrical wit or the uncanny melodic sophistication. Fortunately, the Aluminums' strengths typically win out on Plano -- for every misstep like the terribly-derivative synth-pop of "Angel on a Trampoline," there's a melancholy gem like the opening "Chocolates," "The Mattachine Society" or "Star Wish" which verges on absolute perfection. Also like the Magnetic Fields, the songs of the Navin brothers frequently portray a frank and unsentimental homoerotic worldview, but ultimately the record is much less about sexuality than it is universal emotional truths -- expertly produced by Dave Trumfio, Plano, for all of its flaws, resonates with a timeless and heartbreaking beauty. ~ Jason Ankeny, All Music Guide
| Tracklisting | |
| Disk | 1 | |
| 1 | Chocalates |
| 2 | Angel on a Trampoline |
| 3 | Boy in Love |
| 4 | Sugar & Promises |
| 5 | Mattachine Society |
| 6 | Sunday Morning |
| 7 | 9 Months Later |
| 8 | Sad Gay Life |
| 9 | Steam |
| 10 | Star Wish |
| 11 | Photograph |
| 12 | Storytime |
| Roy Clark
- Milton, , USA |
| Straddling the line (that's not so fine) between synth-pop and chamber pop, the Navin brothers' Plano is an endlessly listenable mix of the sprightly and the melancholy. Openning with "Chocolates", an inspired update of one of their earlier numbers, the Aluminum Group addresses technophobia with wit and melodicism, and flirts with Bacharachian arrangements without caving in to the kitsch-factor. From there, we go into the soft new wave of "Angel on a Trampoline", the soft disco of "A Boy in Love", and the soft... well, pop of "Sunday Morning". You see, this band's detractors miss the point. As "Nine Months Later", their charming response to Cher's "Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves" aptly demonstrates, the Aluminum Group is not here to rock out with their cocks out. This stuff flirts dangerously with the whole "mom-rock" genre. You could easily slip any of these gems into a soft rock radio format, and secretaries the world over would never know they hadn't heard them before. This album breaks no new ground, but builds an architecturally splendid, but wholly inoffensive monument on grounds well tread. | |