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At first glance the cover for the third album from Toronto electronica artist Milosh looks quite sinister, several rows of bared teeth distorting an otherwise becalmed early evening landscape. Look more closely, however, and you'll notice all the teeth are smooth and brilliant white, forming the edges of petals in an optical illusion. In this way the art uncannily draws parallels with the music.
It's not a hugely flattering comparison, either. For this record is entirely lacking in bite, and represents a synthetically beautiful flora and fauna all too regularly, without any obvious effort or conflict involved. All very nice - but in a rather pious way.
Pinpointing exactly why the music raises these objections is not easy. Certainly it's not down to the sensitively scored orchestrations, which blend slowly shifting keyboards with mid-paced drum tracks, supplying a bit of bass oomph but not too much.
The vocals are less easily digested, mind, for though Milosh has a perfectly good singing voice and sings a sensitive, fulsome falsetto, the lyrical material sounds like it was dug up along with a host of 1970s new age song sheets. Described as ‘a musical journal of exile and loneliness, sunshine and birdsong', there's little to be found in the sense of yearning, or a joy of nature - though a restrained euphoria is occasionally glimpsed. There is conflict in the lyrics - happy words set to sad music or vice versa - but that distinction has to be signposted before it becomes obvious.
As the vocals start to cloy, so the instrumentals begin to nag, with very little of note happening once the record starts. The tempo barely shifts, one-dimensional throughout, while the harmonic language is just too comfy and relaxed. It's one thing providing moments of bliss, but the backing here doesn't even have the energy to do that - it just sounds tired.
And therein lies the biggest problem - this record just doesn't do enough to inspire the listener. While it's completely inoffensive and might make you relax it'll do so to the point of sleep, as there's simply not enough going on. When you do sleep, the dreams you have may well find you wearing open-toed sandals and eating vast amounts of lentils before considering intense bouts of recycling. Not that I have anything against any of these pursuits - but there's a preachy element that takes this close to health food music.
I'd suggest recycling might be the best fate for this record, too - although undoubtedly one made from personal experience, it struggles to get its message across. For someone who has such accomplished production skills, he can surely arrive at a more stimulating long player this.
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