Rubik’s self-produced second album, Dada Bandits, does a scary little high-wire dance between the intimate and the elephantine, the melodic and the noisy, the gorgeous and the hideous. They can be as withdrawn and obtuse as the artiest rock band out there and then bust out with a melodic hug potent enough to enclose the globe. Rubik can go from sounding like a well oiled, world-conquering machine to a broken down, cigarette encrusted bar piano. The band offers the opportunity for a riot of (subjective) trainspotting, comparable to the most crate-centred DJ Shadow cut out there. The trick is that none of it is obvious at all and if you tell your friends, they’ll disagree. There are no facts. So if I tell you that to me Rubik takes the textures and atmospheres of TV on the Radio and marries them to the spiritual comfort of a Sufjan Stevens horn section, while spicing things up with a naïve melodic touch worthy of the Cure and then manages to rock out to the point of degenerating into noise, you are well within your rights to vehemently disagree. And you’ll be right, too, but so will I. One thing’s for sure, though. Dada Bandits can take more listens then you realize and continue to provide little revelations each time. This band is currently firing on all cylinders. Since 2005, when the band released its first EP, People Go Missing, and strode straight out of left field to claim its place the great indie hope for a new millennium, Rubik has revelled in the tension created by throwing itself in many directions at once. Bad Conscience Patrol, the Fullsteam Records debut, was a popular and critical smash hit in 2007, hitting the heavy metal-armoured Finnish album chart right in the leather-clad gut at number 7. They played a load of gigs in Europe and North America and shared stages with the likes of Mogwai, Autechre, Apostle of Hustle and Disco Ensemble. They were never out of place. Not once.| |
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