Austin Sound

In 2008, local subdued psych quintet, the Able Sea released a self-titled debut of hushed pop songs that swayed in and out of focus like a ship on woozy, 1960s, coastal horizon. Their sound was comprised of disparate influences from folk, rock, and psychedelic camps alike all brought into a hazy fruition via the quasi-séance-like vocals of principal songwriting duo Alex Thompson and Robert Pearson. The album cover of the debut conjures a mysticism that lends itself to the kind of pondering one might do while looking out to an endless, sepia-toned sea — a nine-song coda for the very moment in time the picture was taken.

Enter 2009, and a follow-up sophomore album capriciously entitled the Able Sea II — a more straightforward picture of an ocean horizon with blue water white-capping underneath an even bluer sky donned on the cover. Judging by appearances, it looks like the Able Sea have made a departure in tone and timbre to a much cleaner and more focused (perhaps more pure) sound. Unfortunately, those who were patiently waiting to see how the Able Sea had developed on their sound will be sadly disappointed. The Able Sea II is a near carbon copy of the debut, which might be exactly what the boys wanted considering they decided to title it “II”.

Album opener, “Left Off” rocks back and forth on a decisive, fuzzed out drone and cyclical bass line, those now-trademark Able Sea vocals cutting airy textures into the woodwork. It sounds like it could pass for a track from the first LP, only it retains slightly more confidence than anything heard on the first half of the debut. Any effect “Left Off” may have had in a way of forward progress, though, is neutralized by “In the Mind Of” which has all the formal aspects of what would make a psychedelic song without any of the spirit. This same problem plagues other tracks throughout the album (“Astronauts”, “The Tides”, and mellow closer “Satellite”) which parade through the second half of the album like half-hearted attempts at synthesizing the psychedelic elements from Pink Floyd, the Flaming Lips, and A Band of Bees into three separate tracks.

Not all is lost though. The Able Sea show their ability to slip out of their comfort zone to create something refreshing. “No Reason” and “Clock Stopped” both boast a more rambunctious — and I might say — rewarding side to the Sea’s clinically sedated psych-rock. “No Reason” jostles quickly around lively bass lines and expansive hooks, and “Clock Stopped” has a catchy, ear-turning staccato synth that flows nicely into the song’s chorus that sounds too much like Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper” in a good way.

Oddly enough, the two best and most indicative tracks on II are two of the longest on the album. Proof, perhaps, that Able Sea need room to breath, for their songs to take a life of their own as opposed to falling into line with the rest of the ambiguous psych the Sea have put out. “All the Time You Need” is a sort of half-drunk, moody, unlikely treatment to something that sounds like a maritime ballad. It finds most of its power in the repeated chorus, “He’s the sleep, he’s the hurt, and the trial.” The significance of the words may escape sense, but it doesn’t really matter because the imagery alleged is striking enough in it’s own abstract, surreal way that it warrants no literal interpretation. “Shoreline” opens right away with very angular, slappy guitars that slip into verse-work rife with all the pleasing aspects of good 1960s rock. And again, the chorus repeated (“I walk the shoreline with Betty, or on my own) allows space for the mind to expand and try to wrap around something—even if there’s nothing really there.

The Able Sea II does the bare minimum that any sophomore album should do — meaning it doesn’t necessarily hurt the quintet thanks to a few good, progressive tracks. At the very best, it manages to further stabilize their sound and provide some kind of ground work for something more decisive and definitive in the future.

Websites:
http://theablesea.com
Myspace