Slint and Tortoise were the Amazon and eBay of indie rock. After a year or two of evaluation, the market was saturated with startup bands following their business model, and both critics and fans were scrambling to buy stock in all of them. The pendulum swung too far, though, and like the formerly cocky consultants now eating pork n' beans off hotplates in their parents' garages, Analogue-- on hiatus since 1997-- are sending out a new resume.

The icy clean keys, vibraphones and Fender guitar shapes Analogue laid down on their 1995 "Average Luck Charm" single and debut 1996 full-length AAD (both released by the sadly defunct Boston indie Sonic Bubblegum) still stand tall as some of the strongest material released in Slint and Tortoise's wake. The group recorded a markedly more ambitious sophomore LP, Rock Proper, soon after, but Sonic Bubblegum tanked, and it wasn't released until 2000, on Rubric. The shift toward loud synthesizer lines begun on that record continues on Oh Perfect Masters, which hides a few superb melodies among its trying eight-minute opuses.

Like a sketch-comedy version of The For Carnation, Analogue II are unable to keep a straight face during their monologues. They appreciate poignancy as much as we do, but they can't take it seriously, devolving into jazz drum breaks and walls of Frigid Stars guitar in a manner reminiscent of 18th Dye. But more than these musical chairs, and somewhat insipid, is the last five seconds of this often quiet, retiring record: a bellowing scream care of Matthew Westlake, unable to resist his urge to break the silence. This is just one of a handful of "gotcha!" moves to break up an otherwise palatable instrumental album that continues to borrow from the Chicago and Louisville inspirations Analogue based their sound on.

As a fan of their earlier work, I believe it's the band's impatience that makes Oh Perfect Masters something of a disappointment. Analogue's sound was worthy of trademark, and though I can't begrudge them for attempting to broaden their scope on their third album-- since, really, they barely do-- the self-aware whistleblowing in most of these songs cheapens them greatly. Once you're set up to expect a jarring scream in the middle of a lullaby, you're no longer calmly enjoying the melodies but waiting, coiled, for the alarm to go off. Genuinely hilarious track titles-- "Nails Don't Keep Him on the Cross; Love Do", and "Dojo Casino. It's All In The Mind."-- further define Analogue II as a gaudier, tongue-in-cheek revival of a once deft and dedicated band now older, wiser, and wising off.

-Chris Ott, October 10th, 2002