I drove home from Birmingham tonight to see Alt-J perform at the godforsaken Masquerade. I don't have time to blog about it now because I have to drive back early in the morning, but I'll just point out that Soundcheck's Maura Johnston and Chris Weingarten included Alt-J among their Worst Music Of 2012, their least favorite, least memorable and just plain worst music of the year, calling Alt-J a "mealy indie-rock gruel barely bolstered by thin, noodly attempts at 'prog rock,' paired with a sour whine."
On the other hand, All Songs Considered's Bob Boilen raved, "This record has sucked me into its trippy world like no other. Each pop/art/rock song here morphs from verse to chorus to bridge with deft precision. Rarely will 20 seconds go by before a tune unfolds with shifting arrangements, jolting starts and stops — solo voice to harmonies, solo instrument to full band — something we expect from prog-rock and rarely get with catchy pop music. The lyrics are the secret potion, though, dispensed in a way that feels cartoonish at times, film noir at other times. That exaggerated style creates a puzzle that unfolds with each listen, revealing bizarre stories and characters in phrases that are fresh and mysterious, funny and sometimes brutal. Listen over and over for lasting effect."
I found it to be worth the drive.
