The tone is at times pure pop ethereal or woozy psychedelic “slackadaisical” and at others, an inventive, overly fuzzy organ-fueled search for a melody.
Personally, I wish the songs were shorter. That way, the forty-plus minutes of my life I wasted listening to this disc would be only twenty or thirty minutes.
These blurry noise-meisters mouth some not too earth-shattering indie rock influences (Drive Like Jehu, Steel Pole Bathtub) and throw in a coupla curve balls.
Ultrasound, retaining some of its playground playfulness, is, in my opinion, the only time I ever remember an album I love following up a debut I hated.