Album Review: Purity Ring - Shrines

Purity Ring
Shrines
Rating: Woof Daddy

Earlier this year I saw Purity Ring open for Neon Indian in a small club and was completely unimpressed by their performance. Granted, the sound was erratic and overpowering, making their setup of sampler and vocals even more limited. Singer Megan James and instrumentalist Corin Roddick relied too heavily on gimmicks rather than letting the power of their music rule the day. Roddick performed behind a table with a strange light installation that also served as a percussive instrument, lighting up when struck. James, wearing hand-sewn clothing, lurked about the stage with a halting presence, seemingly unaware of the audience before her. Based on my initial impressions I was ready to dismiss their debut album outright. When Shrines arrived in my inbox, it was with a heavy sigh that I set out to listen to it, but tried as I might, I couldn't dislike it. In fact, I couldn't stop playing it. What came across as muddled and tinny on the live stage was transformed in the studio; the production a dense, tactile beast of a thing, jumping out of the speakers to wrap you up in its spell.

Shrines is a mix of clattering, slowed down Dirty South beats, atmospheric keyboards, and James' innocent coo, which is manipulated, twisted, and mangled within an inch of its life. To a friend, I likened it to Clams Casino producing for The Knife/Bjork/Liz Fraser. The soundscapes produced by Roddick are never overdone or busy, there is a perfect place for every note, and nothing is squandered. Shrines is simultaneously warm and inviting, dark and foreboding; reveling in the push and pull between the two.

Songs like "Belispeak" pulse and throb with skittering beats and vocal twists and turns, the keyboards sounding like they've been left out in the sun and are melting while the song is playing. The lyrics recount what appears to be a little girl's fears of death, and being watched over by her family: "Grandma, I've been unruly/in my dreams/and with my speech/Drill little holes/into my eyelids/that I might see you."



"Fineshrine" has a light, airy melody and rubs up against the strange words sung by James, imploring her lover to "Cut open my sternum and pull/My little ribs around you/through arms, or maybe under, under you."



"Obedear" conjures up images of wintry forests and cold seeping through to your bones, the icy keyboards floating over the minimal beats.



The oppressive and dark "Cartographist" slides James' somnambulistic vocal over a fun house assortment of glitchy, droning keyboard textures, while "Shuck" pairs her wistful vocal, sung as if by a teenage girl drifting off in reverie. The keyboards, in contrast, emulating a funeral march.

Musically, Shrines is never more than impeccably produced, suiting the songs perfectly. "Grandloves" is a hauntingly beautiful slow ballad; choruses of multitracked vocals float in and out of clouds of whispering synths. "Ungirthed"
cheekily uses hiccuped and manipulated vocal samples to propel the track, James' vocals coy and juvenile, sounding like Bjork in her low range.



"Lofticries" slowly builds over moaning synths and stop starting beats, growing darker as the song details the fallout from some violent experience, James' intoning "Let it seep through your sockets and earholes/into your precious, fractured skull."



Shrines is definitely a revelation to me, and it goes to show that you should never discount something outright after one bad experience. Had I relied on that initial impression, it is likely I never would have heard what is one of my favorite albums of the year so far. Shrines is a phenomenal find; one which you should grab immediately.

Rating Scale:

Chilfos: masterpiece; coolest thing I've heard in ages.

Woof Daddy: excellent; just a hair away from being a masterpiece.

Grrrr: very good; will definitely be considered for my top releases of the year.

Yeah Daddy Make Me Want It: good; definitely invites further listens and piques one's interest for more material.

Meh: not horrible, but certainly not great; could have either been polished, trimmed, or re-thought.

Jeez Lady: what the hell happened? Just plain bad. They should hang their heads in shame and be forced to listen to Lady Gaga ad nauseam as penance.

Tragicistani: so bad, armed villagers with pitchforks and torches should run the artist out of the country for inflicting this abomination on the human race.