This summer, a friend of mine sent me an album by a band called Fictionist as a reciprocal recommendation after I sent him a copy of The Republic Tigers’ Keep Color. My initial impression of the record, Lasting Echo was vaguely positive, but it took a few listens to really start to appreciate what subtle things were happening throughout its eleven surprisingly diverse tracks. Fictionist seems to be the type of band that doesn’t immediately settle in with listeners’ ears, which is why I don’t feel out of line reviewing it a full five months after its initial release.

It’s difficult to classify rock music by genre as we continue to expand our categorical vocabulary into seemingly infinite titles and combinations of titles, obscuring what any of them actually mean. But I guess I’ll try anyway. The band takes enough from the pages of modern indie pop to be undeniably modern (as in “Blue-Eyed Universe”), but retains a late-90s focus on the utility of a lead guitar which lightly peppers nearly every song with some busy riffs and occasionally busting out a full-on solo. The rhythm section has written their parts very meticulously, smoothly but surprisingly morphing time signatures, countering the intuitive backbeat (“Always” hits the 1 & 3, not 2 & 4), and pulling back on the tempo until the line between the back-end of one beat and the front-end of the next starts to blur. So, to combine these elements, I will have to invent yet another meaningless concoction of genres: neo-late-90s-classical-art rock. I hope that’s as useless a descriptor as I’m assuming it is.  Probably inaccurate, too.

Regardless of my inability to describe the combination of these things, the actual musical result of the combination is quite effective. Each song seems fresh and inventive but familiar and comforting. The melodic sensibility makes each phrase easy to immediately absorb and repeat, but not offensively obvious. After two or three listens, bits and pieces from throughout the album will probably weave in out of your mind as you try to remember exactly where the tune is from. This is exactly how well-written music should work.

I can sing the praises of the composition of this album all day, but I have to admit that there are some presentation issues that make it less palatable than it should by all rights be. Our vocalist is named Stuart Maxfield. Maxfield does a reasonably good job of delivering these melodies to listeners, but the timbre with which he does so is remarkably unremarkable. It’s not that his voice is no good; on the contrary, he’s very talented. But his typical baritone in no way commands attention proportional to the rest of the music, and this is in some ways a crippling blow to the album. Although each song has its own unique identity, these variations are sometimes masked by the static tone of the vocals across the entire album. If the ear’s attention begins to wander half-way through the album, I would imagine it pretty likely that this problem is the culprit.

Despite its scarce shortcomings, the record as a whole is an excellent piece of work which I’m fully comfortable recommending. In whatever form you prefer to consume music, do a little research and get yourself a copy of this album. If you like it, support the band in any way you’re able; these guys are, like many independent rock bands, fighting as hard as they can to make a career out of their work, and I think that they definitely deserve the opportunity. You can listen to a few tracks and watch their most recent video (it’s excellent) at their website.