There really isn't any way to avoid a discussion of the cover art on this one. Even at 180 pixels, this baby requires some further explanation.
The painting that graces the front of this lovely little EP is altogether unavoidable in its directness, a subversively intriguing and curious piece that might offend or provoke a more casual eye, but upon closer inspection reveals a radically frank and substantially skewed point of view: a whole new presentation of normal.
Greg Weeks and his commissioned artist, Tracy Nakayama, should both get credit for taking a stab at an ironic and ludicrous discrepancy that has been promoted as traditional convention in our Western artistic culture: female nudity is acceptable, male nudity is not. The cover painting illuminates this bizarre reality by entirely reversing the polarity and shifting the traditional roles that our eyes have grown accustomed to seeing. The resulting image is both powerful and challenging.
It is this exact sentiment, a vital and progressive dodging of the familiar, a semi-shocking but decidedly gentle and profound avoidance of typical patterns and paradigms, that pervades the entirety of Slightly West. Oddly hypnotic, elegant, ever so slightly strange, it swims into your brain as a stately and subdued progression of cautious, articulate undercurrents and winding, fluid inroads. Weeks pulls together echoes of folk, decades-old acoustic songwriting traditions and experimental acrobatics, turning out a dreamy blend of past musical flavors and contemporary atmospheres that dares to both resurrect and deconstruct all conceivable expectations. The tempo almost never draws itself beyond a soothing crawl, each song imprinting its layers upon your unconscious with a puzzling and mystifying sense of nostalgia. Weeks' voice is strong and fluent, and his solemn, deliberate delivery is both arresting and comforting, his lyrical poetry steeped in discomfiting mystery. The whole heady concoction is served upon a bed of unsettling Moog and mellotron drones, at once evoking a familiar psychedelic magic and a more modern offbeat brilliance.
Recorded and mixed by (an apparently shirtless, once again!) Adam Forkner at Dub Narcotic, the production is lush while remaining minimal and clean, highlighting the persistently gorgeous chord progressions and the careful, tender harmonies provided by Victoria Croog. "Devils" opens with a discordant howl, melting slowly into a rolling lull that erupts every so often into a seasick lurch of organ blasts, connecting pensive verses with odd bridges of restrained playfulness. The acoustic assemblages of "Unsettled (By The Sun)" combine sinuous bass lines with warm notes of harmonium, producing a lazy, lilting lullaby, while the methodical, courtly keyboard sequences and surfy guitar of "One Summer Night" meld to form a softly joyous murmur of a hymn. "Settle Down" is an alluring and addictive swirl of convolutions, pouring loose coils of chiming organs and ringing guitar riffs over your neural pathways like an irresistible opiate.
Beautifully constructed, elegantly worded and ingeniously conceived, this little gem is worth a careful listen. If you can get past the initial shock of seeing the buck naked man on the cover, you'll find Slightly West's provocatively warped world to be immensely refreshing.
