A brief list of circumstances in which it probably wouldn't be wise to listen to Home is Where You Hang Yourself: working on an assembly line, performing brain surgery, late-night driving, playing tennis, taking a four-hour essay test, escaping from a heavily guarded military stronghold, running in a marathon, defusing a bomb, while skateboarding or while taking a bath.
In short, if you're ever in a position in which complete, utter, slack-muscled relaxation and the sleep that logically follows it would be unwise, you shouldn't listen to Her Space Holiday. But if you're unburdened by concentration-intensive activities, hey, go for it.
Home is Where You Hang Yourself allows us to dust off the word "languorous" and wave it in your face for as long as it takes you to read this review. Slow and dreamy, the ten songs on the album's "primary" disc pair the ornately minimal psychedelic daydreams of Syd Barrett and Nick Drake with the drone and drift of late-model shoegazer chic. Rhythms inch slowly forward, familiar (sometimes ploddingly so) yet determined, while Marc Bianchi covers everything in a warm, bioelectronic sheen, layering warm pop melodies and reverb-drenched vocals. Despite the macabre imagery of the album title, you won't find the album overwhelmingly mordant. It's basically the musical equivalent of chugging a bottle of cough syrup and spending the afternoon lying on the sofa -- untaxing, but pleasantly so. There are a few more challenging moments: "Snakecharmer" allows a jittery and unexpected drill'n'bass rhythm to float in and out of its mix, while "Can You Blame Me?" accelerates to a New Order-esque conclusion in its later minutes. A few tracks, like "Sugar Water", aspire to orch-pop heights, their analog keyboard drone giving way to more polyphonic aspirations.
The second disc, which culls some of Bianchi's best remix work, is a welcome supplement, though it reveals Her Space Holiday's obvious drawback. As a one-man band, Bianchi has a rather limited palette. His remixes sound, for the most part, like Her Space Holiday with different vocalists and a slightly broader stylistic variation. This, however, is precisely what's needed. Remixes of Aspera Ad Astra and Bright Eyes don't stray terribly far from the HSH concept, but they're different enough to break up the mild monotony created by ten tracks worth of Bianchi's voice. Indeed, the album might work a bit better if new songs and remixes had been mixed together over two discs rather than separated into discrete volumes.
However, as fodder for a lazy summer afternoon -- or as an excuse for using the word languorous -- Home is Where You Hang Yourself works well. You'll simply need to avoid operating any heavy machinery for an hour or so after listening to it.
