Cold, Lonely, and Delightfully Depressed with Alaska in Winter

Alaska in Winter Dance Party in the Balkans (Regular Beat)

Conceived during a lonely sojourn in a cabin for a month in Alaska one winter (hence the name of the project, ahem) by the apparently increasingly versatile Brandon Bethancourt, Dance Party in the Balkans (Regular Beat) depicts a very personal, mostly instrumental synth-meets-classical landscape that plays like the score to your life's movie. This delicately melancholy debut echoes and undulates like one long song as it weaves together a peculiar amalgamation of instruments and styles. In addition to Bethancourt's eerie vocoder and haunting piano work, Dance Party is supported by contributions from the progressively collaborative Albuquerque circle, including ukulele and trumpet from Zach Condon of Beirut, clarinet from Hari Ziznweski of Rap, and some rather poignant violin from Heather Trost of A Hawk and a Hacksaw, just to name a few.

Influenced by the likes of Air and Sigur Rós, Dance Party relies somewhat on the listener's imagination as the tool with which to interpret what the sounds express. Rather than attempting to convey the artist's subjective experience, the music seems determined to enhance the listener's own. Because each track sounds so vitally symbiotic to the one before and the one after it, it's difficult to break it down with forceful delineations. Like glimpses of a lost dream resurfacing, or the arc of one lucidly reflective day, the hazy vocals and subtly simple drum beats gracefully poke sunshine through bed-sheet clouds of strings and drizzling piano.

I've noticed that most reviewers attach themselves almost exclusively to "Close Your Eyes - We Are Blind". Sung partially by Zach Condon, it is the only track that seems more traditionally appealing, and the only time it's possible to decipher most of the lyrics. Condon's voice is, as always, soothing, but to focus on this track alone is not only misleading, as an example of the album as a whole, but also closed-minded. Upon multiple listens, certain moments reveal themselves and enchant the open-minded listener by way of clever restraint and timing throughout. For instance, the album wakes out of the gentle, dark reverie of the prior two tracks at the outset of "Balkan Lowrider Anthem," sneakily raising your pulse with an unexpectedly cantering piano part. Later, the longest track, "Rain on Every Weekend," coaxes you almost subconsciously to open your mouth and harmonize with the unintelligible moaning, communing with shadowy abandon.

But for this listener, the most striking song is actually "Don't Read Dostoyevsky." Pairing weepy vocoder with simple yet deadly piano, this starkly classical moment, both plain and emotive, prickles the ears and stands out.

Dance Party in the Balkans is the prescribed experimental accompaniment for any delightfully lonesome mood; any long, gray wait at a rainy bus stop; or any night spent in, perusing your mental index of heartbreaking memories.