The opening track, "Big Ben," melds London flavor -- complete with the clock's echoing bells -- into the rhyme and reason of what the album is really about.
And if that wasn't enough to convince the listener to give Floetry a try, the title track, "Floetic," will certainly do the job.
As artists of the spoken word, the two members of Floetry alternately produce songs to soothe and beats to blast. One of Floetic's most impressive qualities is its ability to take hot and cold and merge them gently.
Two distinct personalities appear in the album, and each song has its own distinct sound. But the transitions are not jarring. The album shifts gracefully from more hip-hop-influenced tracks boasting quick rhythms -- undoubtedly destined for the clubs -- to slow, sensual songs such as "Say Yes."
The moods blend smoothly in harmony and tend to complement each other -- after an evening at the club, candlelit romance is soon to follow.
Although Floetic has just been released, the duo's influence has already shown itself in the music industry. One of the album's two bonus tracks, "Butterflies," was composed for Michael Jackson's 2001 album, Invincible.
But Floetry is no longer content to shape music from behind the scenes, and Floetic is proof of that. Music is returning to its poetic roots and Floetry is here to ensure that it gets there.
By Natalie Harry
Kingfly
elevatorup
2 Stars
It's hard to imagine anything forming in New York City that doesn't possess some kind of an edge.
This is the city that lies at the center of the art world, is the embodiment of the American melting pot and is known for the toughness and resiliency of its natives.
But the city that never sleeps must have dozed off when it spawned Kingfly, a band whose art is as formulaic as the background music of the latest car dealership commercial.
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It's no surprise, therefore, that the band relocated to North Carolina right before recording its third album, elevatorup.
In the comfy confines of the Southern music scene, an atmosphere that has embraced the unadventurous jangle rock of Sister Hazel and Edwin McCain, Kingfly may have found the perfect home.
But unlike the radio-friendly hits of the acts mentioned above, the tunes on elevatorup lack the hooks that lodge a song into a listener's memory.
The album is the musical equivalent of that long monotonous lecture that's a staple of many large intro classes. The substance is well-produced, well-organized and well-executed. But in its lack of any variation or attention-grabbing features, the content glazes over the ears of all but the most focused listeners.
The three members of Kingfly each possess good technical ability on their instruments and deliver the album's 13 songs smoothly -- even when a break from the polish is desperately needed.
Until its last few tracks, the album doesn't provide any variation from the midtempo pace that opens the first song. Bridges and choruses come and go, bringing slightly different chord changes but the same basic arrangements. Minor keys are rarely used, and no song explores a new style aside from the jangly folk-rock that is the group's only staple.
Lyrically, elevatorup is just as dull.
By not altering their vocal delivery throughout the album, singers Anand Gan and Doug Davies fail to give any one lyric a sense of importance. Instead, each line washes over the listener in a steady stream, with little incentive or indication to take any of it beyond face value.
The two singers harmonize early and often in almost every song, and they do it nicely. But the trick wears out its welcome fast and, even worse, inhibits the variety of the album. Consistently blending their melodies, both Gan and Davies are unable to establish their own voices.
It's a fault that plagues the entire album. Without any distinction between or within songs, elevatorup completely lacks a sense of individuality.
In their conformity to the safest musical tendencies, the members of Kingfly are far from a New York state of mind.
By Brook Corwin
OK Go
OK Go
2 Stars
Mastering the three-minute pop song is deceptively difficult.
For an end product that sounds effortless, songwriters sometimes struggle for months with arrangements, lyrics and slick production.
Enter OK Go with its bid for preened pop stardom. For what it's worth, OK Go aims for the same breezy Californian sheen that Weezer's "Blue Album" resurrected.
Radio wouldn't be in such a rut if half of what it played sounded as genuinely biting as OK Go's first single, "Get Over It," with its all-too-true criticisms of our blame-game culture.
But somewhere, this Chicago-based band overlooked a key component of the pop-rock formula -- they forgot about personality.
The band operates on the same contrived cuteness that Elvis Costello, Weezer and early No Doubt thrived on. Lines like "Don't think I've forgotten/You never liked that necklace/So cordial, so rotten/Kiss, kiss, let's meet for breakfast" smack of the same cynical wit as a Costello kiss-off.
But there's nothing behind the music to back these sentiments up.
After a few tracks, it becomes apparent that that OK Go is a band that clearly knows how to posture. But beyond the sneer, there's nothing but pampered fluff.
Lead singer and songwriter Damian Kulash Jr. spits out every lyric with a forced intensity that -- after 10 minutes of over-enunciated, nasal whining -- simply grates on your nerves.
And with wretched filler like "C-C-C-Cinnamon Lips," Kulash and company prove that they have a long, hard road to travel before they can challenge Weezer's tongue-in-cheek, geek-rock throne.
With a bit more time spent building character on the road and a little less time spent primping for cover shoots, OK Go has a potentially bright future ahead.
For now, OK Go's debut album is dancing precariously close to used-bin obscurity, and that's nothing any pop-rock band can afford.
By Michael Abernethy
