moe.
The Conch
Fatboy

Whoever bears the conch (remember The Lord of the Flies?) keeps order and command. moe.’s seventh album, symbolic in name, pits the traditional fist-pumping moe. rock anthems up against dark melodies that rise from the moody sublime. Compare the ‘70s-inspired high falsetto bop of “Blue Jeans Pizza” and the suck-you-in tornado whirl of “Tailspin” to its opposite, but just as rocking, smokerising, demonic draw of “The Pit,” a GPS instructional that brings you “all the way down to the bottom.”What you get from The Conch are continuous exchanges between high and low, and the 17 tracks will keep you swinging back and forth in pendulum purgatory. After shedding its basic beat and melodic Moog drone, “Wind It Up” meanders like an Arabian night— sliding up and down the chromatic scale, finally unwinding in a Queen-esque, no-holds-bar finale. “She,” a light-hearted lilt, dips into the ether of mid ‘90s alt rock with wistful lyrics that follow the moments of a young girl. moe.rons will undoubtedly take notice of the debut of “Another One Gone,” a deconstructed dirge that overlays a simple bongo with an offbeat Jimmy Cliff rhythm and hauntingly inquires “how are you going to go?” moe.’s foray between the dim and the dark works for them— these are not the satanic sounds from Slayer, but an easier listening graveyard rock. Check out “Brittle End” which remains a far departure, from say, anything off of the sugary sweet No Doy. Similar to Wormwood, which combined the best of both worlds (live takes from the road and additional work in the studio), The Conch capitalizes on the same recording evolution. This secret key is documented and heard on “The Road,” one of the songs performed during moe.’s two-night stand in 2005 at The State Theatre in Portland, Maine. As far as moe. tunes go, “The Road” covers all bases: carefully constructed space-reaching jams brimming with threatening guitar solos that cohere to the bands vocal harmonies and bring it full circle. “Down Boy,” about the breakup of a one-sided friendship, ain’t so easy to do, especially when it’s that leach of a friend you just can’t shake. After “six years time” it’s time to take back control—or in moe. speak, if you will, the conch.

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