The American Dollar: Atlas

It's times like these where people should really stop applying the term 'post-rock' to any music which lacks a vocalist, for The American Dollar has nothing to do with the overblown bombast of that genre.

No, instead the duo of John Emanuele and Richard Cupolo present to us short arrangements of subdued, intricate and introspective pieces which ponder gleefully in their confined spaces, happily eyeing the outside with distrust and only venturing out in the case of an extreme emergency. Until then, they are at peace in their warm homes, delicately layering slight yet forceful melodies over the tempestuous haze which encircles their work.

Closer to electronic shoegaze as played by real instruments is where Atlas resides.

One of the rare instances where the album swiftly skip from rupture to rapture is on "Flood", the penultimate track. Maybe it's just the winter talking, but the first half feels like sheltering in an ice cave. As you eye you surroundings, the slithers of light are reflected and refracted, conjuring up beautifully complex prisms of colour, as from such simple things as a beam of light and a stalactite. Come the half-way point though, and we are pushed out into the elements, the percussion tracking the sudden rush of blood around our bodies as it struggles to offset the effects of the cold. Then comes the strange tingling euphoria, the oneness with nature and the lush, bleached surroundings which now envelop you.

A lot of the base elements which form the songs on Atlas remain similar, the sweeping reverb and the frantically picked arpeggios on various instruments seem to be mainstays, yet it's the sudden transitions and little details added in sporadically which enliven the whole process. You won't know that you love "Fade In Out" until the piano breakdown crashes the mood, taking us on a sombre, yet magical tangent. It's then you realise that all these elements were present in the song all along, cowering just below the surface, awaiting their times to shine. Like fireflies released in the night sky, once they're released you really have nothing to do but to recline and stare in awe at the majesty.

The temptation is to label it an ideal soundtrack to a movie as yet unmade, but no movie could handle its sudden shifts in tempo and mood. In film you cannot shift from tragedy to serenity so suddenly, not without emotional whiplash setting in, not without a loss of empathy. Here though, you hold out your hand and are just happy to be led by somebody so knowledgeable to places so wondrous.

Any with a prior awareness of the likes of The Postal Service, God Is An Astronaut or The Album Leaf will already know the drill. But just because you know what the seats of your vehicle look like, this means nothing when you're out exploring the wonders of nature with The American Dollar as your guides.