Addict
Stones (V2)
by Jamie Kiffel
Spawned of an identifiable mix of Seattle grunge and ’80s new-wave pop, one might expect Addict to be an over-edited, neatly-trimmed shadow specially selected for its exemplary darkness and ideally stereotypical angst. The surprise is that, while Stones dabbles in shadowy pockets of aurally frowning commentary, it does so without the overdone grime of drug death under sulfurous gas lights (we’ve all heard plenty of that done well by artists who have, themselves, since gotten over it) but rather, with the gray cloudcover of a temporary but significantly soul-dimming summer storm. Deep-sliding wah-wah pedals and continuous play with dynamics evoke the jerky forward motion of a Japanese movie monster, tickling out the soul-squirmy chills that made both grunge and new-wave so exciting the first time through. Vocalist Mark Aston slips from slick, Depeche Mode-esque vocal sex in vinyl slow darkness to Roger Waters-y whispergroans and even dark-eyed U2 verbalized slithers. There is a polished motion to Stones that saves it from reaching too far down the shadowed stairwell of dark bliss which, on other discs, excludes less emotionally-distended listeners from descending deep enough to excavate the emotions found there. Most pleasing is Aston’s occasionally jazz-feminine vocal quality and warm word distortion,
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