The moment I saw the packaging I knew something was up: the cover art features the sort of computer punch- card font favored by two- bit electronics repair shops and sketchy medical equipment supply companies-- the sort of font that calls to mind images of dusty industrial shelving and the shells of old daisy- wheel printers, all covered with the sticky residue of dried Mountain Dew. I fiddled nervously with the disc the whole way home, terrified that my Friends had joined the minions of Electronica. When I got the disc playing, however, I was met not with some ridiculous skittering beat, but with a moog and an organ, breathing slowly for a minute and a half in a way which immediately laid my fears to rest.

Atardecer, the Friends of Dean Martinez's Knitting Factory debut, does incorporate a level of technology that I had previously thought irreconcilable to their sound. But there are no MIDI sequences here, and no smooth studio wizardry-- just the rough waveforms of moogs, harmoniums and weird analog effects: in short, the type of technology which actually belongs on dusty industrial shelving alongside the shells of old daisy- wheel printers. It hasn't replaced Bill Elm's haunting steel or desert sensibility, but instead has added a layer of texture which allows Atardecer to continue in the vein of previous Friends of Dean Martinez albums without simply retreading old ground.

The opening track, "Quickening," is no doubt the first Friends recording to be completely devoid of guitar, and it's just plain pretty. Likewise, the record's closer is likely the only Friends song on which Elm desn't play a lick, with Dave Lachance taking drum, bass, guitar and organ duties and laying them all over an expected beatbox. In between are nine tunes ranging from the straight- ahead band sound of "Ethchlorvynol" to the album's highlight "Casa Mila," whose nylon string guitar and harpsichord eventually give way to a background of spacious washes and bleeps.

Ultimately Atardecer reveals the extent to which the Friends of Dean Martinez is really Bill Elm's project, presenting itself as a cohesive whole in a way the band's two preceding albums have not quite managed. And the introduction of some new toys has helped head off the fear that these guys might find themselves the victims of the misconception that they're merely a lounge revival novelty. These songs are too sincere, and just plain too pretty for that.

-Zach Hooker