Judging by the prolific longevity they've displayed thus far, we have even greater things to look forward to.
Amazing, but true. Florida’s Home have just released their 14th album (even though the first eight were on home-made cassettes, they count), they have a keyboard player named Eric who looks the spit of Mick Hucknall in 1987, and they sound – simultaneously – like The Flaming Lips, Eels, ‘Abbey Road’-era Beatles, The Webb Brothers and Elephant 6 weirdies the Olivia Tremor Control. Though their stylistic debts are many, however, they are twisted into compulsively unpredictable shapes, while their quixotic lyrics are devoted to advising listeners how to shirk the weight of history. Really, there’s no place like Home.
Legend has it that before they hooked up with producer Dave Fridmann their songs were unwieldy, sprawling psychedelic diversions that excited some but confused many. On ‘Home XIV’, however, they carved out the nebulous meanderings and focused instead on honing neat stabs of melody out of even their most complex arrangements. They seem to have taken the lesson to heart for their live performances as well, moving at a clean clip as they shapeshift seamlessly from folky acoustics (‘Burden’) to broad Beach Boys harmonies (‘So Much Love’), from hairy-knuckled prog (‘Chicago’) to perfect, shimmering pop (‘Truly Judy’).
Even when Home can’t quite match the lush, summery bloom of the album, when the sound is woolly and vocalist Eric Morrison‘s southern drawl gets swallowed up by the band’s ambitious clamour, their summery optimism sees them through. Judging by the prolific longevity they’ve displayed thus far, we have even greater things to look forward to.