Voices

Voices is one of the most exciting sad albums I’ve encountered in a while. And it triumphs in that space in between.

Phantogram finally sounds the way Phantogram has always wanted to sound, and a large part of that comes from tighter and smarter compositions.

With their newest album the New York based duo have turned from a promising indie-rock group into a full-fledged, ass kicking, genre-mashing superhero team.

What makes this upstate New York duo’s darkness uniquely compelling is their seamless blending of hip-hop influences with horror-film beats, which insures that their particular brand of brooding is complex and surprising, instead of simply sullen.

As a whole, Voices is a huge step forward for the band, one that smartly amplifies its atmospheric gifts through the lens of worthy songs.

Phantogram makes music for when the disco ball is still hanging, and the speakers are still blaring, but the dance floor has emptied out, and the confetti is swept away.

Phantogram shows a marked improvement in song conceptualization with Voices. Less fat goes a long way for the kind of weight this duo brings to each track.

Brass tacks time again: it's because the songwriting is a bit less interesting than before, maybe a conscious concession to claim a more middle ground audience.

After making some noise with their debut album, Eyelid Movies, which straddled the line between trip-hop and shoegaze with the skill of an acrobat, Phantogram have refined and expanded their sound in really interesting ways.

At times it sounds like Eyelid Movies Part Deux, which for some fans might be its strongest suit. But Phantogram fans hoping the group would dive deep into new, unexplored territory will come away wanting more.

With an accessible sound that doesn’t feel formulaic, Phantogram have a bright future. They may even be on the verge of a definitive record. Wonder how many soundtracks they’ll appear on before that happens.

A fearless, hands-on approach to the rebirth of trip-hop through the eyes of two New Yorkers.

Voices comes to a graceful if unsatisfying close with the mournful ache of “My Only Friend,” a somber number that unfortunately takes too long to reveal its intentions and ultimately ends up missing much of its moment entirely, like much of the record itself.

As much as Voices tries to get in your head, it too easily recedes to back of mind.