More than a side project or vanity excursion, Sunset Rubdown offers Wolf Parade co-frontman Spencer Krug the opportunity to air his uncorked ambitions and compositional eccentricities. To my ears, the tracks he wrote and sang on Wolf Parade's Apologies to the Queen Mary-- "I'll Believe in Anything, You'll Believe in Anything", "Grounds for Divorce", "Dear Sons and Daughters of Hungry Ghosts"-- are the album's emotionally soaring, crushed-velvet best. However, like his longtime pal and occasional bandmate, Frog Eyes' Carey Mercer, Krug's raw, claustrophobically cracked vocal style can be a dealbreaker, and as such, some shunned Sunset Rubdown's lo-fi debut, Snake's Got a Leg, upon its release last year. I'm sort of addicted to Krug's manic vocal tendencies and off-kilter rhythmic patterns, though-- I'd listen to the guy sing karaoke all night.

Minimizing the echo and cleaning up the production, Sunset Rubdown's self-titled EP continues where Snake's closed. The five songs here are firmly grounded; there's no GBV-style "Hey You Handsome Vulture" snippet or toy-box fuzz like on "Snake's Got a Leg II". Still, each piece is stuffed to the resonating brim. Krug seems to be a fan of windswept, melancholic keyboard lurches, and oddly, of recycling his own catalogue. For instance, before the definitive version of "I'll Believe in Anything" was released on Queen Mary, it appeared on Snake's Got a Leg. Similarly, this five-song set includes "Three Colours" and "Three Colours II", in addition to two takes on "A Day in the Graveyard". The rehashing works to create pretty resonances-- it's as though he could spend an entire career reframing the same few songs ad infinitum, and continually expose newer and more elegant angles.

Fittingly, the EP opens with guitar repetitions redolent of Sunset Rubdown's earlier take on "I'll Believe in Anything". On "Three Colors", though, a slightly ominous Krug asks, "Do you believe that you belong to someone?/ I can't believe that I belong to no one." His queries are backed by psychedelic organ ministrations (often shadowed by guitar), droning vocal harmonies (a choir of Spencers, if you will), and a slight flange. This thread is picked-up by the final, flanged track, "Three Colors II", which goes for the manic Frog Eyes treatment and spirals into repetition of the line, "You should hear the wind at my window." Belief is also the subject of "Jason Believe Me, You Can't Trust Your Dreams". I have yet to put my finger on specifics, but the tinny organ reminds me of Bach on harpsichord. Singing about femurs and skulls and encouraging someone to "sleep with your eyes open," Krug's vocals are doubled up, and the atmosphere is punctuated with lilting, but downcast whistles.

The highlight of the EP is the combination of "A Day in the Graveyard" and "A Day in the Graveyard II". The first is a sort of sunny throwaway instrumental with gently pretty arpeggios, tap dancing claps, loose fur snare, and tambourine-- the way it builds into part deux is rather glorious, seemingly expanding the latter's reach. After a brief ascension, that "gentle arpeggio" hook comes back as a steel drum sound. We get some words this time, too: a "rose pedal bed," "sun on my shoes," and the sinking feeling that "if you could make another one of you/ Then you wouldn't give the other one to me." It's really beautiful.

Another full-length from Sunset Rubdown is set for release in May. For that effort, Klug manages to keep things quiet and spacious, despite showing up with a bona fide band. If he continues to increase the fidelity and go the "November Rain" route, I may have to take a flight to Montreal and crack the recording equipment. But okay, that's jumping the gun. These days, he's still tinkering in his basement and creating moonstruck pop songs that emit the feel of a boat slowly sinking; Krug glug-glugging his Hunky Dory loveliness from a tiny radio and going down with the ship.