"Lalita," released on the
Love Language's 2009 self-titled debut, might be one of the more brilliant lo-fi rocks songs ever recorded. Yes, it's that good. With
Libraries, we now finally get to hear what Stuart McLamb's songs might sound like dressed in a real recording studio (as opposed to his parent's basement). The answer is something just short of brilliant. There's no sheen, shine or over-production here, as the fuzzy atmosphere of nostalgia and giant Phil Spector percussion remain, all in a wash of reverb. What's changed is the clearness of vision. Not only has McLamb's songwriting matured, but with new and improved tools at his disposal, the North Carolinian has bested himself and crafted an album with hooks that dig deep and melodies that reach deeper. Consistent and full of range, the album pleasantly surprises at every turn. From the respective percussive tornadoes of "Brittany's Back" and "Heart To Tell" to the hopping harmony-glazed "Anthophobia" (a fear of flowers), it's clear that this album is a true throwback—one that plays from front to back. In other words, no cherry picking. Do yourself a favor and buy the whole damn thing.
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