Though it possesses none of the icy dread of its predecessor, the stunning
Horror Vacui
,
Baby's Breadth
still finds
June Panic
tormented by matters of faith and mortality. Ostensibly a story about childbirth, the record is really a parable about spiritual awakening and religious conversion. What is fascinating about
is the way
Panic
seems just as terrified of God as he is of death and the devil. He pledges his devotion with trembling verbs: God stole his heart, his salvation is crucifixion, without God he is poor. It's as if he's
Francisco de Goya
, running to God not out of love but being driven to him as refuge from an endless string of nightmares and visions. The record often seems the product of a man inhabiting the farthest plains of sanity.
"Giving up the Ghost"
is an impassioned but bizarre rant against circumcision ("Don't sacrifice skin to medi-sin," goes one lyric) and
"Sex Is for Children"
contains the advice, "F*ck next to beautiful children/Who come and conceive a pure light." To his credit,
manages to make these maniacal claims cohere with his sudden spiritual awakening, and in the context of
, these outbursts sound like divine revelations. It's a shame that the music lacks the ballast necessary to carry out such an ambitious affair.
is still toiling in the lurching, echo-laden
folk
that characterized his past outings, but instead of enhancing the mystery, the brittle guitars and thumping percussion just sound worn out.
's adenoidal ululations and spare songcraft made his earlier work sound like junior
Time out of Minds
, but here they feel a bit wan. The surreal visions remain engaging, but
's method of conveying them is starting to show signs of wear. ~ J. Edward Keyes