Mr. Gnome exploits the ends of the volume spectrum as an attempt at musical depth and fails in a way that makes you wonder if you're about to have a heart attack. While Meister can keep a beat and throw in a creative fill every so often, the kid would benefit heavily from realizing the middle of the road is what creates a dynamic soundscape, not abrupt and unsettling transitions between "hi-hat" and "loud".
The act is almost salvaged by the penetrating voice of Barille, a young woman with unblemished control over her pitch and a vocal timbre that resonates in all the right places within the listener. Her tone encompasses the richness of Bjork's (minus the obnoxious quarter-tone bullshit she's laced into every album since Homogenic), with a choppy, attitude-driven bent a la Nelly Furtado's first record.
Unfortunately, a having an exceptional singer is not even close to cutting it for this Cleveland, Ohio band. One could assume Barille is trying to tank a potential career with the "indie cred" disease (an ailment reminiscent of Chicago's own Rachael Yamagata) by pressuring a strong, unique, and captivating voice into awkward and unpleasant song structure.
If Barille were to drop the guitar, swap out her drummer, and listen to a couple Diane Warren tunes, she'd easily become a promising talent in pop music and likely be snapped up by the first label willing to shelve her debut solo record.
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