Pure Bathing Culture - Moon Tides

Pure Bathing Culture might sound like magenta sunsets, swaying palm trees and faded pastel paint peeling off the front of quaint beach houses, but they’re actually landlocked by seventy miles in Portland, Oregon. It’s more likely, then, that Daniel Hindman and Sarah Versprille swim in the Willamette River that runs through the middle of the city, life guarded by the distant buttes of the Boring Lava Field. It’s less daunting than the deep, blue Pacific Ocean, and the wild waves are replaced by gentle easy-to-contend with ripples and a warm unobjectionable breeze. Pure Bathing Culture make music of similar docility. ‘Moon Tides’ is a refreshing enough dip in the pleasant, temperate waters of inoffensive indie-pop. However, don’t expect it to knock you out with its sheer force, or take your breath away with technicoloured coral reef. On the most part, it won’t leave any lasting impression at all.

The best track on this album by a mile is ‘Evergreener’, because the richness and texture to Verspille’s voice is allowed to rise above the shroud of misty background noises. The guitars have a bit of punch to them, and it’s pastoral and quaint in the most likeable way. It’s like Fleet Foxes have taken a day trip to Mt Hood. It’s a charming song, albeit rather comfortable listening.

‘Scotty’, on the other hand, is suffering an identity crisis. It sounds a little like if R&B and soul legend Gabrielle was to collaborate with Beach House, riddled with infuriating layers cooing synthesizers, all fawning over one another and stifling any memorable hook in the process. ‘Only Lonely Lovers’ is profoundly annoying for similar reasons. It sounds like a romantic number from the stock scene in a pantomime where the princess is separated from her Prince Charming, who she has known for approximately 4 minutes.

The main problem with ‘Moon Tides’ lies in its complete lack of lunar pull. It wafts around directionless, as Versprille’s voice flobs around like a helpless jellyfish trapped in a slowly revolving gyre. As each sweet, chiming guitar line meanders about aimlessly, there’s no dynamic to get excited about, no spine-tingling crescendo. Pure Bathing Culture have created an ambient watercolour wash, but leave you fruitlessly longing for a brave splash of boldness across the canvas.