Out Hud: Let Us Never Speak Of It Again

For a band staring into the same dance-rock hole that burrows through so much of New York, Out Hud sounds guided by vision. The group circulates currencies from the past—New Order, breezy Italodisco, saucer-eyed 24 Hour Party People rave—but the results still come out sounding charged. That was true of Out Hud's 2002 debut S.T.R.E.E.T. D.A.D., but it goes double for Let Us Never Speak Of It Again, a modest new album that boasts a wealth of dreamy atmospheres and earthy pleasure points.

In the wake of last year's bracing Louden Up Now by !!!, a band which shares a few members and more than few sonic allegiances with Out Hud, Let Us Never trades forceful punch for intricate jabs and fleet footwork. The rangy beats land more than mere glancing blows, but they work this time as parts of a more rounded whole, accents made to move songs as much as dance floors. "It's For You" ushers in welcome new vocals by Phyllis Forbes and Molly Schnick, who swoon and murmur without ever mistaking the disco ball for a spotlight. Lots of credit goes to mastermind Justin Vandervolgen, a graceful mixer-arranger who can make four minutes sound like 10 and vice-versa: As songs drift through subtle but distinct movements, it's hard to remember which of several sticky vocal hums or guitar hooks are being cross-referenced.

Midtempo tracks like "Old Nude" think their way through spangly dub refractions, while faster ones like "The Song So Good They Named It Thrice" jump into cruising patterns of chatty drums, deft electronic riffs, and warm chord changes. The centerpiece of the album is an 11-minute track with a song title deserving of more than a reflexive eye-roll: "Dear Mr. Bush, There Are Over 100 Words For Shit And Only 1 For Music. Fuck You, Out Hud." The song doesn't have an explicitly political bone in its body, but the gorgeous mix of musical elements—looped xylophone, moody cello, steel drums—shapes a homegrown musical world worth emigrating to.