Compulsively creative, the gangly Deerhunter could be forgiven for burning out and subsequently outing a duff album right around now, and yes, there are moments of scrappy sketchiness within Parallax that'd perhaps have been best left on the drawing board or indeed palette (at times it really does feels as though Cox must literally paint his sound, so vibrant are some of the canvases here exhibited). However when this record is finely focussed, by God is it acutely expressive.
The murky, thalassic whispers in the backdrop of Modern Aquatic Nightsongs sound like anemones blowing bubbles, adding an air of much Bedroom Databank material to the track (were said bedroom plunged into sunless depths), while the segueing Mona Lisa pertains to the timeless twang of Odelay as Andrew VanWyngarden honks and tonks away on a piano that sounds as though it's being played for the first time in a few centuries. It's a fully-formed, fully alluring pop song that precedes the whimsically scatty, daydreamy Praying Man perfectly. Yet there are moments of the almost impossibly impeccable here that tower over the remainder of the record like ozone-scratching skyscrapers smiling down on barely-visible lands below. In particular, Te Amo, a gently rippling love song that bristles with aqueous rhythm, insoluble bass, and perhaps Cox' finest, most mellifluous melody to date. My Angel Is Broken meanwhile picks up where Desire Lines left off, and ideally unites Cox' ear for a captivating hook with his favoured raggedy outward aesthetic, while Lightworks contains his most foot-tapping, jaw-dropping, and jaw-exercising singalong chorus to date, instantaneously inviting on first exposure given its absence of lyric. If at times it feels as though Cox is intent on hurling as much musical matter from his pitchfork as hurlable, much of Parallax sticks.
