Bright take the jangly guitar structures of indie pop and plant them in the middle of prog-rock territory. They create the same sort of heady, trance-like atmosphere you'll recognize from Godspeed and others, but in a more meditative style. Stretchy circular repetition and gradual, shifting variation is favored over massive, exhausting climactic structures. There are climaxes, though, and you're gonna love 'em; they're smaller, but they often last for almost the entire song.

Imagine that you're seeing your favorite band live, and that they're the sort of band that's prone to intricate and melodic arrangements. Now imagine that it's the encore, and they're playing one of your favorite songs -- and when they reach the end, instead of stopping, they launch into a gorgeous, bliss-inducing five minutes spent riffing on the song's central melody. The guitars chime with fuzzed-out feedback, the rhythm pulsates in time with your heartbeat and the music shimmers in the air like a heat haze. That's the sort of glorious, almost autonomic playing that characterizes every one of Bright's songs -- at almost any given moment, they resemble the absolute best part of a live show. They've got that driving rhythm that makes you think "Yes! This is why I spent the money for the ticket!" With the music turned up loud enough, you can feel the chord changes through your skin.

Naturally, with such a brilliant smear of sound, details will be obscured. You might not notice the vocals 'til your third or fourth spin. You won't catch yourself humming the songs, either, because their component parts won't lodge in your mind. It's big picture stuff, greater than the sum of its parts, and when you try to unravel it the individual pieces cease to make tangible sense.

But put on the headphones, turn out the lights, close your eyes and start up "Heart of the Park" or "The Fall" and you'll get it. Don't be surprised if you suddenly sit bolt upright, eyes wide, wondering where the rest of the audience went.