Your Children Placate You From Premature Graves (Slug Magazine)

“The Made Man’s Manifesto” sums up the Dots rather well, not necessarily lyrically but in its ability to combine pulsing electronics, half sung poetry, a touch of droning jazz with a rising blues influenced guitar bit that implodes into a psychedelic whirlpool. That might sound a bit off, but the Dots have always been a bit off. A Dots’ album is an organic, exotic, esoteric rollercoaster of clankity clonk and opium induced holidays. You can describe one song (“No Matter What You Do”) as a free form jazz flavored dub and follow it up with whisper of piano as Ka-Spel tosses carefully sharpened words around like pillows (“Stigmata Pt. 4”) while turning jazz and gypsy tinged folk into lovers (“Feathers of a Down” into “Please Don’t Get Me Wrong”). Thee point being this: the Dots are 25 years old and they still don’t stick to a formula. Like vagabonds they dismantle genres and steal the bits that fit. Sometimes it doesn’t work, but in the case of Your Children… you’ll find the most approachable, still decidedly non-commercial, collection of songs the group has put out in the past decade. Take a listen to “Peace of Mind” and you’ll know exactly what I mean.

 

 

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