A high-minded, sometimes bed-fart stuffy project with roots in modern jazz and the more mellow constituents of post-rock, Forest Walk... toes the line between the aforementioned touchstones, the trendy skitter beats of the wide-ranging electronic scene, and the mellow environs of ambience-up-yer-keyster Enovision, often within the same composition. Cursing the creative "imitations" of guitar for the most part, Crombie cull their movements from such disparate sources as vibes, bass, field recordings, sub-skronk scrapes of static, and the various bleeps and blops that have become common in the work of groups wide-ranging as M83, Boom Bip, Secret Mommy, and even out-and-out atmospheric rock bands like Audio Ovni.
What alternately bolsters and blights the pace of Forest Walk as a movement is its solemn dedication to a singular mood. Quiet, sultry avenues lead to increasingly rhythm-driven passages that etch a fresh sketch on the template of instrumental music, but those in search of escalation or bonerific rising action in the classic sense will be left holding the throbbing bag; which isn't to say this is a 'schwing'-killing drawback, but rather a cold, hard fact that limits the scope of possibilities for this even-keeled ensemble.
Another snfu is the bass. Whether eked out of a guitar or a synth, it serves its purpose, providing a scented bed for the many diversions of Crombie. But its inflection (save the bulbous boost it lends “Miranda") and lack of immediacy serve a lukewarm end, lending the unwelcome feel of progressive jazz -- the bad kind, dickface -- and sounding out of place when juxtaposed with so many shimmering, futuristic elements. Offsetting this flaw, the vibrant, digitally-altered beats allow the din of effects to swirl around them while offering an attraction of unexpected snare dashes and tinny clangs that could nary be achieved by a flesh 'n' blood drummer alone.
Weighed down by subtle -- albeit consistent -- flaws, Crombie, with spectacular album lynchpins such as “Tea Tray" whiffing upon the diddle-heavy plume of prog and the splendor of solid math, set the bar to the sky on the more grandiose trails of Forest Walk, daring others to follow their uneven path through the woods. This reviewer's guess is that many will, only to be ambushed and artfully billeted like enemy troopers once Crombie set up camp. If only (Aber)Crombie(and Bitch?) could finish the job -- you know, slit some throats and stuff -- and not sit there with a bloody knife in their hands. That's it, I'm callin' the sarge!
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