TEXAN four-piece Cigarettes After Sex and their self-titled debut album sounds like their name suggests – lying in bed reflecting on a recent encounter. However, this is no celebratory post-coital smoke. Instead songwriter Greg Gonzalez has penned a collection of melancholic longing for what momentarily existed, but subsequently disappeared.
Almost a decade has passed from when Gonzalez formed the band and five years since their sole EP I, but the wait is justified. Gonzalez possesses an androgynous voice which floats above the dark ambient pop arrangements. One criticism of Cigarettes After Sex is the tempo and style of the songs rarely changes, but the album has been created to set a very specific mood. Dark and truly beautiful.