There are no credits on the sleeve; no list of instruments, or who played them. There are only serial numbers ...
THERE ARE NO CREDITS ON THE SLEEVE; no list of instruments, or who played them. There are only serial numbers and a tube map-cum-shopping list of household items, into which Wheat’s oblique song titles are slotted. Musically, Glenn Medeiros is not an obvious influence. East Coast newcomers Wheat are therefore something of a self-styled conundrum. They give precisely arse-all away, bar a sea-blue sleeve that hints at the submerged, expansive music within.
It’s to Wheat’s credit that theirs is a coy bluff worth calling. Eight tracks of warm, guitar-driven understatement are here bookended by some abstracted rustles and dinky electric piano. Throughout, piles of guitars thrum like living things, crawling with the sort of little electronic scratches and whistles that would beg the tag Sparklehorse-lite, if that were not too glib for this record’s inviting depths.
Indeed, even if ‘Medeiros’ were merely another slice of odd, melancholic Americana like the ‘Horse, it would be enough to celebrate. As it is, the countrified murmur of songs like ‘Leslie West’ and the slow chug of ‘Tubesoft’ are periodically interrupted by cracking pop songs like ‘Death Car’ or the lovely ‘Summer’ ([I]”Smoking pot with your train-track friends/Close your eyes and let the music carry you”[/I]).
So, it gets a touch samey after about the 23rd listen. So, a few more killer tunes like ‘Death Car’ wouldn’t go amiss. Still a staple in your diet, nonetheless.