Prolific as Bradford Cox is, one suspects he may have finally run aground creatively here. Halcyon Digest sees much retreading of old territory, with any new paths explored turning into cul-de-sacs, and ultimately sounds too clean and thin to feel as substantial as their best work. Desire Lines is probably the highlight, but smacks of “let’s do another Nothing Ever Happened”. The introduction of *gasp* a sax solo in Coronado is brave, but off-colour. One can only lament that Cox and Pundt never woke up to a Ted and Dougal-esque epiphany.
Words Carl Cullinane
