The Silent Years: The Globe

the trumpets march, and suddenly everything peters out. “Don’t you think that

it’s yours because maybe it belongs to everyone,” Josh Epstein repeats over and

over as all the sections vamp, steadily diminishing in volume until nothing’s

left. It’s a perverse way to build a song, eminently representative of how The

Silent Years work: Opener “Out Into The Wild” leaves listeners there, somewhere

in a murk of looped keyboards and wordless vocals. The whole album’s busy with

lively sounds and background noise, and it’s hard to argue with the

intelligence of what’s going on moment-to-moment, but it never adds up. These

aren’t fragments; they’re incomplete arcs.