Robert Scott - The Creeping Unknown (2000)

Robert Scott's charm has evolved into a very subtle, subdued update of the signature New Zealand sound he helped create. Infamous for his work with New Zealand's influential early-'80s chart toppers the Clean, and later the Bats, Scott delivers some of the expected--ingratiating jangle pop--on The Creeping Unknown. However, melodies are built more gradually, and songs are introduced with drawn-out, loping, circular movements (at times recalling fellow New Zealander and guitar atmosphericist Roy Montgomery). Over 19 tracks and about 60 minutes, The Creeping Unknown draws the listener in with lazy summer guitar mirages, sparse piano, odd loops, and some tape manipulation. While the longish length idles rather than builds heavy momentum, the more experimental passages are inoffensive and pleasantly droning. It's the keyboard-laden, Yo La Tengo-like gems such as "Fog and Wind" and "When Shade Was Made" that will satisfy die-hard fans of Scott and New Zealand pop. But vocals are few and faint (sometimes mimicking transmissions from another universe), giving The Creeping Unknown the feel of a haunted desert ghost town on the cinematic instrumentals, and on the more traditional pop songs as well. The foreboding title of this disc is a bit deceptive. While Scott's minimalist pieces can often be moody, they aren't the horror movie soundtrack you might expect. Instead, you get some truly inventive instrumental pieces that sound like aural snapshots of a quirky otherworld. The work here has all the best qualities of work by Brian Eno, Peter Noone, and Michael Brook, with a grittier atmosphere that sets it apart.

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