All artists have recurring motifs running through their work: Mondrian and his squares, Prince and sex, and so on.
Baltimore’s Beach House, meanwhile, have woozy, dreamy music defined not only by an undercurrent of melancholy but also by the shimmer of Victoria Legrand’s voice.
Add to Legrand’s vocals a stream of rising/falling guitar arpeggios, DIY drumming and subtle organ seepage, and you have an end result that is really quite beautiful.
Not a lot has changed, however, on Beach House’s fifth album; those looking for radical reinvention may wish to look elsewhere.
There are minor changes – Legrand now owns the songs, rather than sounding like she rented them; there is less mournfulness – but overall it’s seductive, slo-mo breathtaking business as usual.
