Late last year, the oddest thing happened: I became bored with my blog. Each new day brought a not-so-new way of saying what I said before, just about a different album, EP, or song. It wasn’t the music, which I genuinely enjoy, but a formula I’d unconsciously embraced. You know the one: Joke, quote, clip, song descriptions, and summary. Part of it had to do with the helter-skelter pace I set for myself, I’m sure—but to what end? (The Old Grey Cat was, is and will always be a labor of love, not a cash grab; it’s why ads don’t litter my pages. Whether a post attracts a thousand, hundred or 10 clicks impacts neither my wallet nor ego; I long ago accepted that my tastes mostly exist on the outlier front.) That parenthetical is a lengthy aside, of course. Boredom is boredom. What is there to say when it’s all been said?
That conundrum doesn’t apply to Loreless, however. The debut long player from Amsterdam-based art-pop duo Wynnm Murphy and Luke Elliott, who’ve dubbed themselves Pomelo, is a compelling listen. On the one hand, it’s abstract impressionism in sonic form, with splashes of electric color imbued with noirish hues. Shadows cast staccato beats. Sober melodies swoosh to woozy and back again, a bit hungover. On the other hand, it’s a throwback to days when avant-garde textures accentuated late nights and early mornings. Their rendition of Maria McKee’s “Show Me Heaven” is akin to either a fever dream or an A.I. hallucination—I’m still not sure which, but either/or it’s cool. Murphy doesn’t possess the Little Diva’s vocal pyrotechnics, of course, yet the song still smolders.
“Crops,” released as a single back in April, is a good taste of the album. It’s a tone poem with words, just about—and for those who don’t get the reference: a “tone poem” is a lyric-free orchestral piece that evokes a literary source via the music alone. The same’s true for the bulk of the album, really. One highlight is “Fluff,” which finds Murphy musing about matters of time in a pleasantly profane manner. “Ahh” mingles shallow and deep breathes, while “Lemon Amnesia” is surreal serenity set to song. The closing “Nasty Sauce,” meanwhile, furthers the psychedelic aspects before revealing a very real truth: “I would never lie to you even if you wanted me to.”
The album is not for those who crave catchy hooks and choruses to sing along with, and I wouldn’t recommend playing it while driving—its hallucinogenic properties play havoc with perception. It’s a challenging listen, to be sure, but one with many rewards. I’ve never played it once and not played it again. Which says it all, I think.
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