Hood |
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I always get excited by the phrase ‘headphone music’. Different albums lend themselves to different listening contexts, but nothing satisfies as completely as those rare albums that seethe with life, writhe with ideas and bubble with ingenuity, all of which I like to pick at and unravel in minute detail as my morning bus to work weaves its way through the awakening city.
Which is where Hood come in. Like the person who grows into his face, Hood have, with the release of Outside Closer finally got the album they deserve. They’ve been getting nearer with each intriguing new direction their releases have taken, mind you. Most recently, 2001’s Cold House crackled with energy and innovation, ingeniously blending Anticon beats and babble with the Leeds outfit’s ever expanding musical pallet.
The highlight of that album was the savagely catchy 'I Can’t Find My Brittle Youth', complete with show-stealing ‘malfunctioning robot’ drumming, and Hood continue their habit of peppering their atmospheric full-lengths with great, big, shiny pop moments on Outside Closer. 'The Negatives' patiently waits for 40 seconds of noncommittal strings to rise and fall before bursting out of its cake with a confident, punchy swagger that should earn it lots of airplay. They repeat the trick later on 'The Lost You' where the combination of skittery beats and gorgeous warm textures provide the best example of the album’s new, more balanced approach to live and digital instrumentation.
The real beauty of this record, however, is found in the less immediately accessible songs. Hood have always rewarded patient listening, but never has their dense tangle of tones and layers paid off as richly as here. On standout 'Any Hopeful Thoughts Arrive' a pulsing bassline and mournful brass section flesh out a subtle melody. By the end of the track, jaunty keyboards rain down as the swaying tune reaches a hypnotic, blissful crescendo. 'On Still Rain Fell' there are fragments of guitar glitter and crossfade, faint whistles dance around somber horns, drums melt and dissolve, while all the time an elusive and addictive melody snakes around the sonic detritus. Best of all, '1.Fading Hills'’ throbbing bass and array of electronic textures swim by in a beautiful head-nodding blur.
Despite all this, it’s easy to see why Hood are often maligned, or overlooked completely. The graceful trudge of 'End Of One Train Working' and the clanging submarine dub of 'Winter 72' are brimming with little touches to entertain the active listener, but at a combined eleven minutes can sound plodding and dreary as background music. Equally, where Dose-one’s eerie, stuttering raps about spitting at fish had added such an unexpected change of gear on Cold House, here the vocals can get a bit samey. Having said that, one man’s weary tenderness is another man’s limp miserablism, but I’d argue that the downcast delivery provides a satisfying match for the band’s brew of autumnal atmospherics, IDM trickery and mellifluous melody. Just make sure you’ve got your best headphones handy.
Nick Fawbert - 20-02-2005
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