This super-soupy self-titled effort by Lesa & Ross is a record anyone could make. Sounds like a reductive analysis, but HOLD ON, weary traveler, I come in peace. What I mean to say is, the emotions mined by the strange-ass quartet (led by the namesake duo) ring universal. And even though six of these tunes are covers, it’s impossible not to relate to L&R’s vibes because we all feel them in our everyday lives. From the scenic watercolor synths to the (processed?) xylophone and on down the line to their echoing, cascading avalanche of a vocal presence, Lesa & Ross sound like you think your lofi band would sound like, and how you’d want your lofi band to sound. The simplicity of the formula is part of the charm. There are four, count-‘em, four members in this band and it’s as if only two or three of them are involved at any point in time. Yet it also is a loud, crowded album in a way. Those two or three elements take up a lot of sonic space, and, thank god, they’re delivered in a sloppy enough manner that we know it’s mostly one-take madness (or not?), almost Moon Glyph-style, but much scrappier. I like it best when the tempo is upbeat and the Trimble-y vocals are sweet, as on “Final Apology” (it’s misspelled on the tape sleeve, C’MON PEOPLE!), a track that makes me wonder why there aren’t more originals on this damn thing. “Final Apology” definitely kicks the shit out of that Shadows Of Knight cover (though the latter isn’t bad at all). Then again, it’s their show to run, and they do a workmanlike job, treating each song as an entirely new pallet on which to artificate (yep, new word). Lesa & Ross, who the hell are you, and where does Summersteps get its off-kilter roster from? Sounds like a case for Gumshoe; I’ll be in touch. One-hundred copies to lick and enjoy, for your aural health.
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