Picture a dark, dingy Los Angeles venue in Los Angeles. The stage lights come up, and four young men grace the stage. Two of them take electric guitars, one of them an electric bass, and one sits behind the drumkit. The guitarists stand with picks in hand and heads lowered, and proceed to pluck clean, complex, dissonant, pre-written guitar lines for 45 minutes, while the bassist provides simpler low end accompaniment. There are no microphones, and only two pedals, neither of which is for distortion.

None of the musicians ever look at the audience or lift their heads. The audience lightly applauds at each break in sound. The "songs" are not clearly defined; sometimes a single section is stretched out for five minutes, and sometimes the songs navigate through several movements for more than ten minutes. Tempo changes occur seemingly arbitrarily throughout. And when the set is complete, the Polar Goldie Cats simply leave the stage, the closing number having been no more dynamic than the opener.

The preceding paragraphs were a complete fabrication of an account of a fictional show performed by the Los Angeles-based instrumental math-rock quartet the Polar Goldie Cats. I've never seen them perform, but I've witnessed enough shows of that or a similar nature to place them in those surroundings. These types of shows are often enjoyable, but unless there are some unlikely and fascinating lighting changes, they rarely differ much from their recorded counterparts.

This is why I find it apropos to compare the Cats' second record, Polar Night Stress, to a live performance. Aside from minimal overdubs or effects, the record feels as if it's being performed live-- perhaps even in the room with you, if your stereo equipment is capable of doing such justice. But it isn't the spontaneity of a live show that the record brings; it's the feeling that every moment has been extensively rehearsed.

Sometimes pauses as long as those between tracks occur in the middle of a track, and they feel natural. With the exception of the brief slowed-down closing section of "Mimpi's Mort," Polar Night Stress holds no other illusions or recognitions of tape manipulation or editing. And, as with "Mimpi's Mort," song titles seem arbitrarily chosen simply to frame sections or ideas with random phrases. Guitar riffs will subtly morph into others, from dissonant to harmonious and back within mere seconds. The slight melodic shifts wash upon perceptive listeners or audience members, who will no doubt give the nod of recognition and breathe a slight "yeah" from their pursed lips.

With Polar Night Stress, the Polar Goldie Cats have provided an undeniably enjoyable listen. The fact that they can be so easily categorized and identified with a style blueprint proves that they aren't doing anything new; if anything, they're taking a mellower, more straightforward cue from the genre's icons. If a specific comparison must be made, perhaps a musical hybrid of the brooding qualities of Slint and the complexities of Don Caballero would suffice. Still, the Polar Goldie Cats are current proof that borrowing from blueprints can still make for interesting architecture.

-Spencer Owen