“Moonlight Passes On” is Rochester-based Attic Abasement’s first record in about 10 years. Helmed by the prolific Mike Rheinheimer, AA is an acoustic guitar-driven indie rock, raucous collective with a good number of releases under its belt within 20-plus years of existence.
This new one consists of short, but somehow slow-building, under-the-radar blips that’ll turn your grimace into a grin after repeated listens let them seep under your skin. On the surface, it’s fun, lo-fi stuff that doesn’t take itself too seriously. Give it a few spins, and you’ll see the record is a study in disappearing delights — moonlight, youth, friendships, even life.
All the same, these 11 tracks also feel like walking around a house, drinking a beer from the bottle (not a can), and decoupling everyday objects from their intended uses. While Rheinheimer’s lyrics don’t always pay the rent poetically, they are so worth sitting with. Beneath oft-awkward wordplay and Issac Brocky warbling is a restless intelligence — served up with a smirk—that puts him in conversation with late middle-(r)age(r) voices like Kozelek, Malkmus and Callahan. Good art often does not assault you; sometimes it just spills you back out into the sunlight seeing things differently. That’s the strength here. It’s the lyrics, man.
To wit, “Plyer Sky”: Dying man / Turning on a fan / I’m a pile of sand / Now you understand. Lines like this thrill because they tap in to the same lackadaisical lo-fi genius exuded by Canadian singer-songwriter Hayden. On “Bruised Water Moon,” a pedal steel guitar creates an effect of otherworldliness. “Moonlight Passes On” may take some time to stick to your guts, but it’s a deceptively smart exploration of ephemerality. See also “Glad to Recede.” We all gotta go.
