The Art of Go

If ever there was a debut album that literally required the listener to investigate further, insofar as it gives nothing away, it is this inscrutable mini-album of idle, sweet abstractions from Capratone.

The modus operandi is, in the main, gentle (not to say drugged) guitars, a la Pavement without the sharp angles, offset by winsomely droopy vocal harmonies of the kind that might be produced were The Beach Boys forced to remain awake, and standing upright with their instruments, for six weeks.

With the mildly depressing lyrics frequently so submerged within the mix that they require the listener to sit directly in front of the stereo to hear them, the album positively drifts past you as you listen, pleasantly languid, feeling its way round unexpected melodic bends in the road, with the tiniest inkling of discomfort lurking close behind to keep one on one's toes.

Highlights include 'Free Jazz,' which floats leisurely by on a summer breeze of (probably tongue-in-cheek) jazz chords before unexpectedly erupting into something closely resembling vigour; the half-cut 'Link Track,' an imaginary Brian Wilson/Stereolab collaboration, featuring periodic breaks taken mid-song to apparently drag a refrigerator across a concrete floor in the next room; and 'Departure Lounge Music,' which alternates between, possibly, representations of Waiting (shaker, quiet guitars, dampened ticking cymbal) and Departing (as heard from within the jet engine).

For all its undoubted strengths, The Art Of Go is worth the asking price on the strength of the cover art and sleeve alone, where, amongst other pleasures, one may marvel at minimalist ink paintings by Princess as well as the Hiroshige-influenced Wonglu triptych by Wongwong and Lulu - all three of which artists, it may be relevant to mention, are cats. Damon, Damien and other art-school types, watch your backs.