What could be more harmless than a red ant? They’re so damn small, rarely annoy us in the hordes that the invading regulars do, and their colonies are created in moist soil like river banks and lawns, not under our kitchen sinks. We get the same unobtrusive feel from “Red Ants”, the opening track of Sonoi’s self-titled album.
The Chicago collective has put together an album of light, airy, undulating rock songs. The 12 tracks float about like “Clouds” (the name of the second track) and wander around like the aforementioned ants. The music is not quite as jagged as the kraut of Can, but does have the long instrumental element to it (“Anchor Tattoo” sits at 10:59). “Framed” is nearly six minutes of an impending swarm of horns and kinetic energy. “Rotativa” glides by on swells and the sound of dripping water.
Sonoi reels you in mostly with wonder and curiosity; it doesn’t quite bang you over the head, but allows you sit back and enjoy the ride. It’s relaxing and contemplative, like a boat sailing on calm waters—with all that potential life like a school of trout bubbling just beneath the surface.
// Notes from the Road
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