The Marches plural are a gang often featuring vocals courtesy of Briana Nadeau but revolving around the singular Richard Conti. A Chicagoan transplanted to Los Angeles, his classical training is much in evidence with quality sax and piano work - something he feels the need to stress in the liner notes as "NOT sampled". What they/he have/has cooked up is a genre-bending and without doubt innovative mix of poppy electronic stylings and dark jazzy soul. It takes in everything from Air style dreamy harmonies via Motown rhythms to swinging speakeasy blow-outs. Flaring brass and crunching synths alternate - in verse/chorus within as well as between tracks. However, a pervading disjointed middle ground impression lingers - as that of the house band from the bar room scene in Star Wars. Unkind perhaps, but cemented by the mid-album vocoder drudgery that is the track 'Bobby Brown' (the name says it all really), which itself follows an extremely annoying minute and a half of studio outtake 'fun and frolics'. At their most deliberately jokey and/or antiseptically impersonal, many tracks fail to connect and fade away as forgettable Teflon electronica: 'Wish You Were Here' sounds like an American Violet Elizabeth Bott straining over a power chord riff. Whilst some if not all this hopefully tongue-in-cheek playfulness and admirable inventiveness should be welcomed, I somehow found it generally unsettling to the overall experience. The upbeat numbers are not spontaneously good enough to get me jumping and jiving, c.f. the sadly sanitised Motown groove present on ‘So Ill’, and only serve to be disruptive to any smoother continuity possible from other more soulful tracks, including the sultry sax instrumental of 'Ghost Of A Chance'.The best of those tracks are the more straight ahead r'n'b variations of the brooding drum'n'bass backed 'Need Me Back', the funky pumped up beats of 'Cold Hands Warm Heart', and the piano heavy 'Sometimes Sex Isn't About the Money' (complete with classical maestro flourishes). All showcase and are really made by Nadeau's silky voice. The middle one of that trio is the only song on the album to substantially break the three minute barrier. At least the next tune is never far away if the current one is wearing thin. And unfortunately most do. Maybe I'm in the midst of a particularly grumpy or apathetic post Christmas phase, but I can't see myself reaching for this album again. Err, ever. It’s not so much that its plain terrible, it just doesn’t seem to conjure up or satisfy any kind of musical desire after repeated listens. Richard Conti seems to have interesting and laudable views on DIY music making and managed to get this together recording with completely borrowed (and cheap) equipment at various friends’ houses, but his talent hasn’t found their mark with this listener. File under 'Clever Dick'. 48%The Marches on MySpace