There’s no Edward Sharpe. This is a concept group driving about in an old Greyhound bus channeling the late ’60s spirit of not washing and being uber-cool in free flowing robes and dirty white suits. Image issues aside (lead singer Alex Ebert once fronted a techno act), opener 40 Day Dream on this debut is the most naturally joyous excursion into communal musicianship since Arcade Fire. But I still smell a rat: perhaps it’s the heavy-handed approach to peace, love and ‘green’ oozing through (among other clichés) that makes one secretly hope they drive into the path of an oncoming train. By Chris Murray
Shock
