WHO LOVES THE SUN?

Back from another Goshen Fair, rich with carbs. Late into the night after rescreening some BAND OF BROS, which holds up nicely, I listened to the Fiery Furnaces's BLUEBERRY BOAT, which blew my mind instead of lulling me off to sleep. I mean this in a good way. The lyrics veer between offhanded randomness and surefire inevitability; the production values are pristine but not IN YOUR FACE; the singing is casual-virtuosic; and the elaborate instrumentation recalls the more inspired Brian Wilson. Eric Weisbard sings their praises in Slate:

Blueberry Boat is a tribute to that moment when early '60s rock became late '60s rock: conceptual, difficult, and as inclined to draw on Stockhausen as it previously had Chuck Berry. For traditional punks, art rock was a blasphemy. For collegiate punks like Sonic Youth, it was fine so long as it was difficult and truly avant-garde—minimalism with guitars. But the Friedbergers have a different take. As they see it, what redeems concept albums, rock operas, and the whole sodden lot is that when they fail, they don't fail quietly. And what's not punk about that?

Bandwagons are a drag but this CD is a MUST. I have no clue WHAT IT ALL MEANS. The next night I listened to András Schiff's Schumann (ECM). Again.