Slow Six – Tomorrow Becomes You

by Vinh on March 2nd, 2010

Slow Six – Tomorrow Becomes You
January 26th, 2010
Western Vinyl
Score: 6.6

Faceless, spectral shapes drift by in the periphery as you saunter down densely populated streets after clocking out for the evening. As you listlessly negotiate your path through this mass of humanity, it hits you. You’ve forgotten necessary documents at the office. Peering back against the immense current of bodies, you wrestle your personal scale out, weighing the pros and cons associated with a return to your least favorite edifice of the greater downtown area. Well, you’ve managed to travel 4 blocks in this concrete jungle, so that suggests another 8 blocks to merely retrieve the bag and revisit this very position. 8 blocks too many. Conversely, you did assure your immediate superior that the tasks he charged you with would be ready first thing tomorrow. If you opt out of this arduous walk, you’d have to swing by two hours early to crunch numbers, and crunching is ever so painful before the sun rises. One step forward, one step back. Much like its seesawing violins, neo-classical troupe Slow Six can’t seem to settle on one stance, returning to Western Vinyl on its third full-length following a one-album stay at the New Albion residence. This indecision colors every last instant of Tomorrow Becomes You, a consistently pretty record which simply doesn’t boast much direction. Where ‘Cloud Cover, Pt. 1′ is too slender and nimble to carry any palpable sense of urgency or atmosphere, ‘Because Together We Resonate’ presents a slow, steady surge of dynamics; rising to meet the splendor of human triumph and lilting to refrain from showy grandeur. Brooding closer ‘These Rivers Between Us’ is perhaps the aptest example of Slow Six’s ambivalence: the number opens with hypnotic strings only to be whisked away by a sweeping, powerful crescendo — a refusal to resign, a man sprinting across the spray-paint-littered city because he’s grown tired of ambling at everyone’s pace. He’s grown tired of urban desolation at the center of the flock. It’s a truly moving juncture, and yet before long, it retreats, giving way to ominous, labored noodling. Suddenly, we begin to ponder where this is headed rather than being swept in the torrid voyage. When the second round of sonic squalls arrives, its pull is significantly weaker, its flight grounded by the holes our feet have carved in the cement below.

Vinh Cao

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