Guess what? It’s another exciting, blogged, buzzworthy band from New York. I can’t even tell if I’m being sarcastic anymore. I am kind of getting sick of typing an N and a Y into the description of another review though. What I’m even sicker of is the incessantly high consistency of the bands exporting from the island of Manhattan and it’s four brotherly boroughs. I constantly feel like I’m missing out on something.

Violens are a 4 piece from New York. They spell their name like that so it’s halfway between violence and the instrument. I’d like to turn that into some beautiful analogy on the delicate power of their music, but it’s just not going to work.

Amoral isn’t really defined enough to be lumped into any category. It’s MGMT without the unlistenable audacity; it’s The Bravery without the bombast; it’s Interpol without the darkness. The record seems to sit amongst its influences and identity without ever really settling. I’m just finding it difficult to pick something out of its twelve tracks that really grabs me. Several listens and in and I’m still fighting to find some familiarity that doesn’t stem from racking my brains to try and figure out what else it reminds me of.

One thing it does have though, throughout, is a glistening and glorious atmosphere. It’s a beautifully played and produced album. Choruses swell, the bass darts and dribbles, while the drums occasionally roll into what sounds like a full on marching band at Her Majesty’s service. It’s crammed with different sounds, sweeping tones, and songs that stray from verse, chorus structure. So what’s the problem?

I wanted to like this record, I really did, but in the end, I just can’t find that one thing to take away from it that makes me really excited. That makes me consider even booking a flight to that concrete jungle where dreams are made of. Because Amoral is like a dream itself; one of those dreams that I know was special at the time, that was really good when I was asleep, but I just can’t remember a thing about the second my eyes open.