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In the Vines is a spare, unhurried blend of raw instrumentation and experimental electronic noisemaking serving as a chronicle of crippling depression and death's imminent domain.
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Among the remaining eight songs is some of Raposa’s strongest songwriting.
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Ray Raposa's creepy folk explorations as Castanets remain intimate affairs writ in miniature, despite a backing band with up to seven members and a choir of 10.
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If In the Vines isn't a record that impresses at the level of individual songs, neither is it something you throw on in the background and forget about.
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By taking more time on this record, Raposa has delivered with not only a return to form, but perhaps his best offering yet.
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Even his lyrics, a mix of front-porch reflections and impressionistic images, are more sound than sense, the stuff of ambitious art-rock, not folk.
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The album's Gothic-tinged Americana is an uneasy road but blazes a trail worth exploring, one that is more about the journey and not so much about the destination.
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All of their typical sentiments are there, but where their prior releases used spacey interludes and bridges as a recess from the hopelessness, the group employs these moments more sparingly.
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Things are decidedly darker this time around; although his music has always been psychedelic, Raposa's In the Vines aligns itself more with a bad trip than lazy, woozy-eyed stoner fare.
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Under The RadarIn the Vines is a haunting, challenging set. [Fall 2007, p.72]
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A very dark album, yes, but Raposa's ability to convey much with little usually results in a fragile and gloomy beauty rather than mopey dreck.
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Raposa breathes a life of delicate beauty amidst a seemingly hopeless situation.
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It’s no laugh-a-minute ride, but there’s a beauty in Raposa’s misery that’ll appeal to acolytes of Will Oldham and his aforementioned collaborators alike.
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This is an album's album, magnetic over the long haul, as Raposa's careful, nuanced tension between placidity and chaos accrues force.
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With ten songs running under forty minutes, the haphazard track order (with production quality going from super lo-fi to pristine) and dour feel ultimately make for a rather challenging listen.
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In the Vines--like Raposa and his self-proclaimed "bad year"--is something rare and curious only if you’re willing to wander through the rough patches here and there and accept a subtle discord along with the harmony.
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This record, though, feels complacent, like he’s a bit stuck and is trying to find a way forward.
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Raymond Raposa, the ex-surfer behind the ever-shifting line-up, sounds like Neil Young after spending a few nights on a park bench, his decayed folky croak the perfect thread to link these hushed laments.
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SpinWhile his whispery vocals work well amid the woozy atmospherics of 'Strong Animal' and 'Three Months Paid,' it's a shame someone else can't sing Raposa's dour, sketchy tunes. [Dec 2007, p.112]
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Q MagazineIt's often bleak fare, but it's also compulsive stuff. [Jan 2008, p.105]
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Rev.RikardNov 10, 2007