Supernal Brilliance. Sleep Party People, We Were Drifting On A Sad Song.

Few souls have successfully manipulated their vocals to echo the feel of brutally contused, heartlessly maimed extraterrestrial. Olof Dreijer has, to all extensive purposes, become the benchmark although firmly etching his essence alongside Karin's shadow-enshrouded sibling is Brian Batz, Danish wonk pop polymath and the fluttering ticker behind Sleep Party People.

In the wake of an ordinarily sodden bank holiday, with reality now bent back into grim shape sophomore effort We Were Drifting On A Sad Song is precisely what you're most probably hankering for. Besides an extra hour's shuteye perhaps. For Batz here equilibrates the sounds and sensations of the antithetical activities of calming slumber and maddening celebration, the mood and emotion of the record undulating as it slow-dances into a secluded ventricle, a previously uninhabited and irrevocably unknown cavity of your being; such is the revolution upon which it swivels. First up is A Dark God Heart: a spectral piano refrain; a restrained tempo gently intimating grandiose crescendo; Batz' strangely warped vocal strains. It's all about "the sound" and "the sound" is flawless: immaculate production values aside, Batz becomes the great puppeteer who twists and tugs adroitly on every tensed heartstring with guileful flickers of the wrist and Satie-like serenity. Thus the organic is offset by the otherworldly yowls emanating from his leporine jowls; "the sound" of this overwhelming statement of intent as well as the sight of masked features associated with the dank apocalyptica of Richard Kelly's seminal cinematic envisaging of his very own beloved Donnie Darko.

The 'Party' then skiffles into understated action on the segueing Chin. Like Jonas Bjerre fronting up pitch Black Devil Disco Club ambience, it'd suggest that although Batz perhaps strives for anonymity, his succinct methodology is instantly identifiable. For this desire for superficial disguise is distantly removed from the gimmickry of, say, Bon Iver's latest and as the expansive Anthony Gonzalez-ish majesty of the title track smears like irradiate sunset from ear to ear you're left to sink helplessly, swiftly into slushy adoration. Batz incessantly coos: "I don't know what to say to you" in its closing moments over 8-bit raucous and indeed such dumbfounding invention merits such speechless reaction. Perhaps the finest wonder of We Were Drifting On A Sad Song however is the perfect reality that at no point do Batz' ghostly wails waft incongruously over that which they gaze down upon from such great heights: whether it be the sumptuous yet doleful aura of Melancholic Fog to which one may feasibly imagine Arcadian nymphs to waltz or the starry-eyed surprises traced within the dreamy whimsy of Gazing At The Moon the blend is calculated and the laboriously cultivated fruit succulent. Few records so convincingly translate such fantastical concept to such compelling result and if there's anything up and out there it'd appear they're gazing down gleefully upon Brian Batz. Heck, he's quite probably already booked on to some ethereal vessel when the time finally arrives. For a supernal brilliance lives and thrives among us.