Phox

The self-titled debut LP from this Wisconsin band shimmers and flows with a delicate intimacy that probably should have come from the hands of a producer who has crafted the autumnal folk of Bon Iver orAimee Mann.

Hence, despite its musical breeziness and date of release, it's not your standard indie-pop summer soundtrack. Having nixed the car commercial catchiness that is de rigueur for current indie-pop acts, it's clear from the start that PHOX is not particularly concerned with how they're perceived.

Their unpretentiousness, which resonates just as powerfully in their music, is attributable to their discernible lack of any sort of frontman.

Instead, the band is more or less comprised of six high school buddies who, by chance, reconnected as adults, moved into a house together and began making music as a sort of incidental experiment. That nonchalance only makes them a more likable septet, and their seeming inability to grasp what all the fuss is about surrounding their LP is arguably the best part about them

The self-deprecation may just be a ploy though. One listen through their stunning debut and it becomes clear that PHOX is something of a breath of fresh air amidst a mass of comparatively stale and predictable post-Vampire Weekend offerings.

The album's opener, Calico Man,serves as a perfect introduction to lead singer Monica Martin's exquisite vocals. While her plushy croons immediately bring to mind confessional singer-songwriters in the vein of Feist orCat Power, making flippant comparisons feels like a disservice.

While Martin's vocals come with a sense of implacable familiarity, her deceptively soft voice consistently obscures the darker nature of the band's lyrics and rhythms. The subject matter of their songs is not always clear, but that's okay-it's easy enough to feel it, even if you can't understand it. With Laura, a standout six-minute dedication to a girl struggling to be herself, the band stretches itself to its full instrumental capacity.