While Man In Gray makes an engaging listen, it doesn't
make good driving music. Their keen use of dynamics lends to erratic
acceleration and unexpected slowing that, while difficult to perceive
from the driver's seat, draws the attention of law enforcement
and the ire of fellow commuters. It's a propellant brand of indie
punk (formerly known as alternative/post punk/pomo/ shut it.)
The prepubescent absence of fuzz coupled with an advanced species
of chords brings to mind Television. Clean, cool, ovular
guitar lines delivered by someone who obviously knows their way
around a fretboard, but refuses to showboat. They do like the
wall of sound scrubbing, but with the reverb knocked off. Drummer
Jeremiah McVay isn't averse to toms, (yay) nor afraid to
rush when required. (hoo-ray)
The ebullient Christina DaCosta sings, shouts and screams
with massive personality, moving from innocent waif to crazy drunken
girlfriend with the ease of The Avengers' Penelope Houston.
The title track lifts discordant boy/girl harmonies from X.
Everything is presented empathetically with an accessible artiness
- the kind that makes you want to make art yourself, not make
the scene sipping cosmos (or whatever the current haughty girly
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