There’s something pleasing about an album that doesn’t feel like it requires four-five minutes of padding before its existence begins to make sense. At a time when some rock acts confuse excess production with risk taking, the Copenhagen brothers Thomas Charlie and Daniel Pedersen (better known as Vinyl Floor) offer a more modest take on their sixth album, Balancing Act. It’s a record guided by melody, mood and careful composition; with a smattering of experimentation that keeps things interesting. And, when necessary, restraint.
What began as an 18-year love affair with the sound of those who defined the British pop, alt, prog movement of the 60s and 70s, has blossomed into the duo’s own take on those sounds. Love for the Beatles and their body of musical work is evident, but the band is well aware that love for a band doesn’t necessarily mean you audition to replace them in concert.
The opener, “All This And More,” sets a patient tone for the album. Layers of multi-tracked guitars, keys, harmonies, build a thick, almost smoldering, mood. It isn’t instantly grabbing; it earns your listening time. “I’m On The Upside,” takes a different line with prominent guitars, sunny vocals and a persuasive power-pop beat. The influence of the Merseybeat sound is more than apparent but being up-front about that isn’t any kind of insult; a great melody is just that, a great melody.
“The Helping Hand” slows the proceedings with a relaxed, mellow vocal over somewhat darker keyboard sounds. However, the emotional heart of the album is saved until the very end, with “Mr. Rubinstein”. Music centred on piano, acoustic guitar and sumptuous string arrangements, “Mr. Rubinstein” is a cinematic study of self-doubt, criticising and all sorts of other wayward artistic insecurities. And there’s even a sense of humour running through the lyrics which ensures the track remains engaging without veering too close to melodramatic.
Vinyl Floor takes a lot more risks on “Tell The World It Happened.” With no drums for most of the song and lots of glistening guitars and a steady, driving pulse, the song builds an almost hypnotic tension that at times is reminiscent of Radiohead’s late ’90s experimentation. Instead of rushing to a familiar chorus or heavy payoff, they allow the music to do the heavy lifting. This stands out as one of the most exciting moments on the album, showing the brothers can step outside their comfort zone without retreating from their interesting side.
Over there, “Land Of The Desert” ventures into more delicate folk-pop borders, while “Back Of My Hand” builds its melody with additional oriental touches that add an aura of cinematic scope. Those detours are essential. Without those, the album could have ended up being a generous assemblage of relaxing guitar-based songs; and nice is fine, but it gets a bit tiring after 13.
Even more electric, fast-paced acoustic power-pop is available on “Puppet Laureate,” but “The Swan Of Eileen Lake” is the slightly more refined choice. Stripped-down voices, wind textures and strings provide an attractive hybrid of folk-jazz and smooth pop.
“Adelaide” is a gentle, piano-based character composition that keeps the record’s contemplative mood, if nowhere near as effectively as some of its more punchy neighbours. The punchy, percussion-led “Less Dystopian Book”, however, offers up a more stark contrast with its savagely pointed comments on weariness in the arts and the industry. A good reminder that introspection can be had without soft lights and cardigans.
The long “Jacaranda Blossoms” starts out softly with mostly piano lines, then slowly blooms into broad-stroke pop-rock. Its various textures let the Pedersen brothers let loose while balancing the melodies that form the album’s core. The title cut ends the proceedings on a similar mellotron-tinged note, a slow-moving landscape that swirls in stereo panning effects, affirming the core concept of the album: life is inherently a contradiction and at times that’s okay.
A few pieces could do with a little more power and some sections don’t always quite make the impact they seem to aim for. But the brothers get the basics of good songwriting, which ultimately is what carries the album.
Six records in, Vinyl Floor are at peace with who they are-and thankfully, they aren’t afraid of that or trapped by it. Balancing Act isn’t trying to invent a new form of melodic rock music and really, there’s no need for them to. Instead, they just enjoy how much can be done within a proven vocabulary.
If you like British pop, atmospheric alternative rock and really well-crafted melodies, then you’ve come to the right place. A warm, reflective, subtly ambitious album that reveals ever more on each play. To Vinyl Floor, balance is not the absence of contradiction. It’s the way of making something beautiful from it.
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About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for various publications around the world, the former lead writer of review blogspace Atop The Treehouse and content creator for Manila Bulletin.
