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, compliments of his Cambridge, England accent (his pronunciation of “moanster side” is a case in point). The angst here is believable and fresh, and as Aston sings on “Dust,” it “feels like I’ve never been hurt before.” More impressive is the well-worked quality of Stones that suggests that, as much as it hurts, this too shall pass – but for now, we shall take this time to explore the depths of these puddles of upset before the sun breaks through to dry us out.
(14 East 4th St. 3rd Fl. New York, NY 10012)