There’s every chance in the world that I’m writing this review from a significant disadvantage, and I’ll be the first to admit that I have somewhat odd tastes in, well, everything - from clothes to shoes through women and ending in my choice of drinks. I was also a fan of Machina, which many felt was an anemic chapter for the Smashing Pumpkins to close out on. That said, I’m still of the opinion that the newest addition to the Pumpkins’ extensive catalog is a worthy one. Is it another Siamese Dream? No. Do I believe to it to be on par with Mellon Collie… or rival Gish? Fuck no. What Zeitgeist is, though, shouldn’t just be dismissed because it cannot compete with the fantastic peaks that the Smashing Pumpkins have found themselves upon during their bizarre journey through the musical landscapes of the 90s or because of the projects Corgan involved himself with between the death and resurgence of his band.

From the first seconds of the album, Zeitgeist revels in torrents of overdriven guitars, Chamberlin’s distinct and masterly control of the drums, and that wonderful nasal delivery that Corgan etched into my heart at a young and impressionable age. Also in those first few moments it is obvious that this is a Smashing Pumpkins record, not a poorly photocopied, mangled replica made to ‘fuel Corgan’s greed’ (along with ticket sales for the reunion tour, the bastard!). I find it hard to believe that Corgan or Chamberlin would pour so much energy and talent into this record purely for the monetary reward (and the fact that many critics are seemingly balking at the idea that major label bands actually make money from their music is a strangely naive tact to employ when joining the bandwagon calls that Corgan is some fiscally-fixated monster orchestrating some underhand scheme so he can frolic in hotel suites full of ‘black money’). The musicianship is astounding — the guitar work is phenomenal, especially during the solos, and not enough can be said about Chamberlin’s craft — the songs are well structured, and having listened to Siamese Dream twice through this morning before returning to Zeitgeist, I remain confident with the rating I’ve given and words I’m putting down here.

While only a handful of songs would survive in any capacity through intense scrutiny next to the likes of “Today” or “1979″, they work together on Zeitgeist. I personally don’t feel there is an awful piece anywhere on this record (though “For God and Country” comes perilously close and is easily the most forgettable track on the record). “Tarantula” is a monstrous composition, a beast composed of besmirched walls of distortion, huge drum fills and fuzz-box squeals cutting through the avalanche of sound alongside Corgan’s snarling voice. The opening three tracks are as good an introduction to a rock album as you are going to find, easily excelling anything heard on rock radio stations around the country. “Neverlost” and closer “Pomp and Circumstances” are both accomplished slower numbers, kind breathers in this marathon of chugging guitars and thunderous drums. Even the meandering “United States” eventually finds its way and closes out with all the spite and angst I’ve lacked in my life since the Pumpkins called it quits.

Would I have preferred Corgan and Chamberlin producing something on the scale of Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness? Of course. But, I’m alright with the work they’ve done, and one must remember that they’ve only recently reunited. I’m hoping the flaws and stumbles will work themselves out soon enhancing the band’s future compositions. Until then, I’m confident Zeitgeist, and especially “Tarantula”, will survive me at least through summer and the coming autumn.

With every composition given a sense of its own individuality through lengthy, film title-like track names such as “That Summer, At Home I Had Become the Invisible Boy”, Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters feels like an orchestral arrangement of many shifting movements or the aural equivalent of a novella, each chapter allowed significance and precedence through its unique approach. While this depiction of the album appears to suggest that the record is a series of loosely linked, cinematic soundscapes, and in some respects this is true, the overall experience of the recording is one of a complete work, a series of resounding tapestries amalgamated by their emotional explorations despite their diacritical nature. This unity is made possible through James Graham’s distinctly Glaswegian accent coloring the tone of his vocal delivery, the grandiose layering of the guitars and bass, and drum lines that slip easily from a near marching band steadiness into more fluid and thundering deliveries; each element, while facilitated differently in the individual songs, is a telling brush stroke of a singular group of artists.

Evoking a strange collection of peers, the Twilight Sad are a difficult group to classify, even in today’s world of curious genre labeling. Maybe our contemporaries at Pitchfork would risk labeling them an ‘epic indie’, a ‘cinematic shoegaze’, or, hell, a ‘post-shoegaze’ band (you can never really prepare yourself for what’s buried in the peculiar literary ejaculations of a Pitchfork review). At times the band seems to tread similar tangents to that of the Arcade Fire only to launch themselves to the dynamic heights of fellow countrymen Mogwai, and a number of other accomplished groups could be used as ineffective measurements of their musical range. The Twilight Sad are one of the most unique bands to step out of Britain in the past few years, their sound thick with distorted and delayed guitars, full, deep bass, and substantial drums, all propelling Graham’s dark, accented vocals as they explore a number of poetically articulated, though often rather vague, themes. While adolescence seems to be the focus of the album’s title and is referenced again in “That Summer, At Home I Had Become the Invisible Boy” - “I’m 14, and don’t you know I’m looking the wrong way; and is the past outside or in this lovely home?” - it is difficult to always be confident in one’s translation of Graham’s cryptic, often bitter lyrics. This has yet to stop me singing along with even the most perplexing lines, my favorite being - “Head up, dear, you’re shallow and blind. And head up, dear, the rabbit may die…”.

I will not be surprised to find Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters slipping into the upper ranks of my ‘Best of 2007′ list even with another half-year’s worth of releases to come. While darkly eloquent and monumental in its scope, the album isn’t taxing or burdensome. As with adolescence itself, a sense of hope and eventual escape pervades even the darkest track. With this being our first full taste of the capabilities of the Twilight Sad, I can’t even imagine the record they’ll create in the next few years. I debated briefly whether Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters should get the full five marks, but, with the expectation of future recordings surpassing this album, it seems I shall have to wait a little while to give these Scottish boys five gears. I just hope they don’t keep us waiting too long.

To start, since Exit Decades has become a quick favorite of mine over the past month or so, if we had ‘half-gears’ here on Automaton Industries, I’d probably give this record a 3.5 out of 5, but, all said and done, it is not quite deserving of a 4. Kicking the record off in a curiously similar light to Bloc Party’s Silent Alarm, Cut City seem unsure over the course of this album whether they’d prefer being lumped in with the contemporary British artists of esteem or their 80s punk influences, most notably Joy Division. While they excel at the styles they explore on Exit Decades, and, for the most part, the record flows quite seamlessly, I can’t help but get the impression that once they settle on a delivery that these young upstarts from Göteborg will produce a damned fine album, one I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to give a 4 or better. The fact that Exit Decades is not that record shouldn’t deter anyone at all from investing in it, the album, despite it’s hazy focus, is still a quality addition to one’s collection.

Opener “Like Ashes Like Millions” shows that Exit Decades, even when treading ‘au courant’ paths, seems to lean more towards the nostalgic approach of bands like Wire (especially 154-era) and Joy Division, not only in the compositions’ arrangement, but in their production. “Anticipation” and “Damaged” take this tact a few steps further, the latter sounding like an unaccountably overlooked track from the Closer sessions. After this reminiscent halfway point comes “Such Verve” and “Rival Trial”, two exceptional tracks, but ones that feel strangely distanced from their predecessors. While the production remains the same, the manner of delivery is far more in line with the 80s throwback bands making waves today. And, once again, the record shifts gears in its closing moments. The ‘ever pushing forward’ pace slows and dissipates into the contemplative “Just Pornography (For M.E.)”, which, in turn, colors the more direct closer “The Dull Miles (Exit Decades)” in darker, more introspective shades, especially noticeable in final section.

While the album has its disassociative qualities, instead of being a difficultly this facet hints at the extensive potential that Cut City possess. There’s not a bad song on this record. Once the band decides whether they’d prefer being Ian Curtis’ disciples or fall closer to Interpol’s approach, they will create something that will excel this fine album. Hell, even if they never ’settle down’ I’ll still be buying their records.