Between The Buried And Me

The Great Misdirect

The real 21st century schizoid band | Victory

“Everything’s a novelty, everyone grows but me,” Tommy Rogers croons ironically on “Mirrors,” the opening track of Between the Buried and Me’s fifth album, languid surf guitar giving way to shuffling dreampop reminiscent of the Sundays and For Against. And we’re off, we think, fully expecting the kind of psychotic musical journey that Colors took two years ago, stylistic shifts as abrupt as someone randomly changing radio stations. But as the prog mayhem begins in earnest on “Obfuscation,” we quickly realize that, although these North Carolina phenoms execute those stop-on-a-dime changes better than anyone, they’ve learned that it doesn’t necessarily have to be their shtick; and for all the labyrinthine arrangements, the discipline they display on The Great Misdirect is extraordinary.

We do get a couple examples of BTBAM’s eclectic bent, as “Fossil Genera: A Feed from Cloud Mountain” tosses out some Kurt Weill cabaret and “Disease Injury Madness” launches into a tremendous blues/funk jam. Most noticeably gone, though, are the Pink Floyd passages Colors used as a crutch, replaced by an early ’70s King Crimson element that ties the whole record together as well as that rug did for the Dude’s room. Whether it’s the Dillinger-esque dexterity, the hardcore breakdowns or acoustic diversions (“Desert of Song” is a revelation), it all inevitably returns to those muscular passages reminiscent of the heavier moments from Red and Larks’ Tongues in Aspic, like the bass-driven break midway through “Obfuscation” or the thrilling closing half of “Swim to the Moon,” the band confidently making the leap from extreme metal prodigies to progressive rock masters.

—Adrien Begrand

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