Feature CD Review: Annuals Be He Me

Be He Me Ever sniff the inside of Weezer's Pinkerton? Wait, hear us out. Its monochromatic liner notes were printed on a kind of matte, somewhat grainy paper, and happened to possess a pungent, fantastic smell. Don't look at us like you've never sniffed a record before. It's the music fan's equivalent of picking out a wedgie: inevitable, personal, and done when others aren't looking. Upon cracking open the Ace Fu Annuals debut offering, Be He Me, we caught a whiff of that same greatness. It's a difficult scent to describe, falling somewhere between a new loft apartment and an art store. Our point? Just like the make-or-break quality of album artwork, great albums have a distinct odor.

Aside from hitting olfactory appeal on the, uh, nose, Be He Me also contains very pleasing music. Annuals have drawn inevitable, perhaps lazy, comparisons out of the press, getting paired up with The Arcade Fire, Animal Collective, and The Flaming Lips. While none of these are unfounded, this North Carolina sextet showcases exclusive elements that keep them at arm's width from the rest of the pack.

Closer in spirit to tour-mates The Evangelicals, their everything-and-the-kitchen-sink approach doesn't come across as forced, and doesn't induce motion sickness. Be He Me is an album rife with risks that pay off, letting the listener in on the cosmic joke. Like many of the great artists recording today they're enamored and consumed with sonic possibilities and have produced a 50 minute testament to this joyous infatuation.

Don't be fooled. The hazy, washed-out artwork on the cover is a far cry from the musical content of the album. Imagine turning up the color on your TV as far as it will go and donning a pair of 3-D glasses to watch Ralph Bakshi's Wizards. On PCP. Be He Me wheezes to life with "Brother", an ancient alien computer turned on at sunset, with string arpeggios that could have anchored an entire song by themselves. Gentleness gives way to orgasmic bursts of distorted guitar as you realize you might just dig the hell outta this album.

"Dry Clothes", the ostensible "single" of the album, wears pop proudly on it's sleeve, accentuating itself with - among other things - electronica flourishes, screamed harmonies deep in the mix, and unpredictable dynamics. As you hack deeper into the album's jungles, you begin to be aware of the knack Annuals have for creating pleasing combinations of instrument voices. Sometimes its a Brian May guitar riff over falsetto vocals, sometimes its a keyboard glissando over staccato drumbeats, all seamlessly integrated into the tumult.

Things tone down a bit on "Fair". Or do they? Initially, it masquerades as a pulled punch, but with yelled vocals and intuitive, albeit bipolar, drumming, the kids keep confounding any listeners looking for well-worn emotional themes. As the album draws to a close, the songs turn in on themselves, shuffling on the balls of their feet. On "Ida, My", after beginning with an almost apologetic timidity, the band seems to remember itself late into the song, climaxing with an electronic freak-out out of left field. "Father" and "Sway" tourniquet the schizophrenia of the previous ten tracks, and the last sound you hear is church bells. It struck us as bizarrely appropriate. You feel like you're walking out of mass in a parallel universe, where the sky is polka dot, people wear shoes on their hands, and no one is ashamed to sniff liner notes in public.