Autolux are a strange case. On one hand, their aesthetic is the same sort of slick, perfectly manicured product as so many desperate-for-success major label also-rans. The fact that they're from Los Angeles—mecca for the overambitious and undertalented—only seems to seal the deal. But as meticulously crafted as their tunes may be, the group differs from the aforementioned pack by offering no easy answers. The result is that the trio's latest, Transit Transit, is finding itself being derided as elegant, but directionless; beautiful, but turgid; tidy, but, well, too tidy. You know: It all sounds nice—too bad they can’t write a hook.
I'm here to say that's all bunk. This band is in pursuit of a lot of things on Transit Transit, but if they wanted a tacklebox full of earcatchers, they’d write them. Autolux are a hell of a lot closer to, say, the Dirty Three re-imagined as a pop band from the future. And lest that seem like an overreaching, ignorant and/or unhelpful comparison, allow me to elaborate. The two keys to the music of the Dirty Three are patience—you’ve gotta stick with it in order for things to fully express themselves—and a slightly unconventional approach to each musician's role. And as different as the two bands’ overall styles are, the same applies to Autolux.
Guitarist Greg Edwards’ playing rarely chooses to stabilize or dictate, instead drifting in and out courtesy of sinewy lines and fuzzy punctuations. Bassist/singer Eugene Goreshter handles his two duties so casually, it seemingly borders on indifference—a decision that threatens to set each of these ten tracks on an irreversible drift. But instead, his approach keeps the songs beautifully away from the overstated vocals or hamfistedly obvious basslines of most pop-rock acts. Verse/chorus tunes stay liquid and pleasingly amorphous.
And then there’s the drummer, Carla Azar. One of my best friends and I both play the drums, and Azar possesses the most beguiling style either of us have heard in many years. Her accent placement and decision-making is mesmerizing, pulling out key bricks from the foundation, delighting in the tumble, and then pushing herself to rebuild it all over again in a newly refined structure.
Put all of this together, and you get a band successfully attaining the least rewarding of goals—a brand of pop/rock that is neither arty enough for critics, nor immediate enough for the average fan. It’s a near-suicidal limbo in which to place oneself, but I for one am very glad they feel compelled to do so.