I wish the music were worse, because he keeps cutting it short, or shorter than it had to be. There he goes, this member of DeVotchKa, with a clarinet, a waltz swing, nubbly accordion, music for domestic boudoir gypsies—glowing, gleaming, romantic, I mean, but essentially trim—a swoon woken up by dry handclaps or the pink-p’tink of fiddle-strings—part-velvet, part-circus, overall moreish and enjoyable, though this is also because it feels pastiche’d together from friendly influences, and there’s a teasing moment when the fiddle impersonates a duck—but track one is just starting to get up steam when it’s killed and replaced by a very different track two, and the same thing happens several times after that. Also, and this might not be the same for other people, but I think it’s impossible now to pull off that gossamer chorus work without reminding the listener of a Danny Elfman soundtrack. In a fairer world that would not be so but here we are.
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// Notes from the Road
"Marina's star shines bright and her iridescent pop shines brighter. Froot is her most solid album yet. Her tour continues into the new year throughout Europe.READ the article