Caribou, The Milk Of Human Kindness

Dan Snaith's third album, his first under the amended moniker of Caribou, may not be his most acclaimed, sitting as it does between the critic-friendly peaks of Up In Flames and Andorra, but it may just prove to be his most eminently replayable and enjoyable.

Throughout The Milk of Human Kindness, Snaith employs his trademark variegated shades of electronic music, jazz, psychedelia and folk, only this time things are embellished with subtle shades of krautrock, the overriding tone being one of groovy restraint rather than wilful abandon. The fact that he maintains a strong degree of aesthetic cohesion across such an eclectic record is testament to his ear for composition and remarkable production skills. He utilises a cornucopia of sonic details, from alien voices to vinyl crackle, flutes, organ drones, stereoscoping sound effects, horns, guitars, blissful drum tones and much, much more.

Managing to encompass the often distant twin peaks of conciseness and experimentation, The Milk Of Human Kindness takes in minute guitar movements and gentle vocals in “Hello Hammerheads," joyous percussion marathons in “Brahminy Kite” and subdued, cloudy krautrock pulses and shimmers in “A Final Warning," while lead single and opener “Yeti” piles organ riff on organ riff, building tension before a torrent of drums finally enters.

Unflinchingly musical and gorgeously summery, you could call The Milk Of Human Kindness Dan Snaith's “Goldilocks” album; where Up In Flames was perhaps too frenetic and Andorra too retro, The Milk Of Human Kindness is just right.