Impossible Shapes

Tum

(Secretly Canadian)

Record Review by Daniel Brody

The Impossible Shapes are a psychedelic band that seems like they would rather get high on Ritalin or Adderall instead of acid or mushrooms.  Tum was originally released as a quickie vinyl record of 300 pressings.  Made available digitally on the Secretly Canadian website for a few weeks, it was downloaded thousands of times, motivating a disc release that will mostly appeal to the already converted.  The album has seventeen songs, only two of which hit the three-minute mark, and the shortest song is an acoustic bass gurgle that lasts for fourteen seconds.  Just when songs seem like they are about to get cooking, there is an abrupt end and a new tribute to attention deficit disorder starts up.  In this, they are much like Guided By Voices circa Bee Thousand.

When the band gets its shit together long enough to play an actual song, they are quite pleasant.  “Florida Silver Springs” and “Pixie Pride” have an agreeable folk sound, and fit seamlessly alongside Secretly Canadian labelmates and songwriters like Jens Lekman and Songs: Ohia.  But then there is the obscene amount of instrumental wankery; most of the instrumentals sound like cues from a low-budget, semi-ironic Western.  The songs peter out before they go anywhere, and feel like padding to make the album seem more substantial.  There is a whole lot of banjo to go with the tape manipulations and fuzzed-out guitars, and the discomfort of these sounds rubbing up against one another gives Tum a slapdash and lazy feel.

I suppose the Impossible Shapes could be commended for not turning their thin ideas into epic-length snore-a-thons, but this is an album strictly for the lo-fi junkies.  As for everybody else, download the four or five longest songs on the album and you will get a fun EP of freakout jams and troubadour harmonies.