There are several musical byproducts of the technological revolution: a new widespread accessibility of complex audio software; a sudden wealth of extremely personalized, genre-less music; and a small army of critics, versed in pop-deconstructionism, who busy themselves with constructing new words to contain the sounds that they're purportedly experts on. From 'Intelligent' Dance Music to glitch-hop to whatever-step, critics are quickly establishing a new vernacular of non-descriptive, esoteric terms that act as a shortcut to actually describing the music.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm not without sin; I've definitely splooged a few zingers into the critics' cannon of linguistic banality. And when something as indefinite and mercurial as Caural's new Stars on My Ceiling drops, I get that Rumsfeldian itch to deploy the troops; "hip-hop," "electronica," and "post-rock" anxiously clutter the front lines, while "glitch-hop," "downtempo," and "tribalism" ready themselves to swoop down and pigeonhole Caural into an artistic corner. So, for the sake of maintaining my analytical integrity, I will attempt to refrain from namedropping any micro-genres, and instead focus on providing a naked portrayal of the music contained within Stars on My Ceiling.

"All These Todays Just Melt into Tomorrows," the record's opening track, is an accessible and percussive-driven salvo that liberally applies a voice synth, cowbell, and various African percussion instruments. The track is organic, cerebral, and fragmented, like a musical fusion of Salvador Dali and Georgia O'Keeffe, and sets the tone for the rest of the album. Perhaps what's most intriguing about the album is that, while Caural is musically manic, the distinction between sounds isn't based on track numbers. Caural will flip the script in the middle of a song while carrying over various sounds from track to track, a device that denotes his intention that his work be experienced in its entirety. The jazzy keyboards of the first track almost seamlessly fade into a two-tone line that introduces "Stick to Modeling," a track in which fast breaks swell up from a backdrop of backward music and stunted vocal samples.

Throughout Stars on My Ceiling, Caural attempts to inject certain aural motifs between the seemingly disparate sounds and samples, creating a monolithic soundscape out of asymmetrical bits and pieces. Juxtaposing sounds is definitely one of the themes here. On "Camphor," Caural places a mellow piano line against a drum line that hardens as the track progresses. Reversing samples so that the bass sounds warped and inside out is another theme: "Retrospect" is almost entirely comprised of them, and the listener is left wondering what the track would sound like if it were actually played backwards. But, for the most part, Caural ensures that the album is both interesting and enjoyable, and he rarely sacrifices the listener's pleasure to his various conceits. With its infectious Spanish guitar, laser-like samples, and clear, uncluttered beat, "Red Sunshine" is one of the loveliest and most listenable instrumental tracks of the year. And the organic, airy quality of "Ultra Vivid" makes it a leading contender for outside nighttime sex jam of the summer.

While it doesn't successfully translate into a prosaic form, on "For Earsnot NYC" Caural successfully brings the background noises (i.e., record static and recording noise) to the foreground in an attempt to illuminate the beauty of the incidental. While most of the song is comprised of noises that barely register on the EQ, Caural drops sound altogether for much of the last two tracks and uses the breaks and silences to develop a musical narrative. It's an interesting concept, albeit one that feels a bit too forced and indulgent.

And self-indulgence isn't the only problem with this album. "Mink and a Hospital Watercolor" drifts dangerously close to Air territory, and although I have resisted confining Caural to a certain genre, whatever it is would definitely be prefaced by "lite." Another major complaint is that at times Caural seems to be merely dabbling in the various genres that inform Stars, resulting in the equivalent of a micro-genre megastore that carries everything yet specializes in nothing. But while Stars on My Ceiling probably isn't going to impress a hardcore devotee of any one of the genres that Caural briefly appropriates, for those who love highly conceptualized, original music this is a pleasure.

-Sam Chennault, August 5th, 2002