Review Summary: A band of light you can get close to
Icarus is an unusual listening experience for me. I'm pretty much a songs guy - if a song has lyrics, then I want to know the gist of them. Even if only one or two potent lines emerge from the mix, it can elevate the listening experience for me. Exceptions would be stuff in a different language - then I'm listening to the feel of the vocal. But I still might hunt down a translation.
When listening to this, I make no real effort to take a look under the hood. Have you ever been stuck in traffic, glanced to your left and seen a fellow driver air drumming with eyes closed, belting out a track like no-one is watching, and then coming to their senses? This is the indie math rock equivalent of what that silent observation "sounds" like.
It's also remarkable that this feels like a full album when it's only 18 minutes long - and it sounds like one long song that's been written in a way that every part of it can be quarantined into separate moments of explosive bloom-ification.
Musically, it strikes a balance between math, indie and emo - sharp and clear in places, restless and shifty in others, but still warm. The emo elements don't feel overwrought, more joyous. Like I said, I choose to believe it's a wondrous response to something. The vocals sound like they're designed to waft into vaulted ceilings, but also curl around those arches like smoke - they're coming from the back of the room, but still cut through. The whole thing is exuberant, playful and thrilling.
As a final thought, I've never really been too sure what's on the cover - is it supposed to be flaming wax droplets falling to earth, or fireflies? I like that I don't know, and that this sounds like it could be either.
