The 1900s

If metal guys are kittens offstage because they've gotten all their aggression out onstage, then I wonder what the passive, refined, 1900s are like at home. Perhaps the law of inverse aggression governs the Chicago band's claims to Fleetwood Mac-style breakups, and to engage in serious ball-breaking everywhere else. A Forkcast track review compared them to an Elephant Six band, but they lack most E6 bands' abstraction and eccentricity. Closer, vocally and ideologically, maybe, are Belle and Sebastien and Sufjan Stevens (violinist Andra Kulans has played backup for Stevens), artists known more for great arrangements and delicate lyricism than a visceral pull.

This is elegant pop, 1960s radio pop, yes, but 1900s should also cop to some less cool influences: Carole King ("When I Say Go"), or "Danny's Song"-era Kenny Loggins ("City Water") lurk on Cold & Kind alongside the Mamas and Papas-style harmonies. But the overriding theme here, despite their debt to pop tearjerkers, is an emotional distance that invades each track. The album title hints at a familiar personality type that, I'm guessing, describes either someone you know or something you recognize in yourself. It's the romantic partner that handles every step of a relationship, from first crush to fight to breakup to infidelity, with a frustrating calm. "I can't tell you I love you until I see you crying," sings 1900s vocalist/guitarist Edward Anderson. And later: "Everyone goes crazy except for me." The arrangements warm up words like these, whether it's the clean and muted violin on"Georgia" or the strings on "Cold & Kind" or "Two Ways"' lead guitar sent through a tube amp.

Every song is arrangled perfectly. But sometimes what I long for, and don't get here, are longer instrumental passages, the breaths that reflect the emotional space and quiet for which the album's protagonist longs. Perfection, like a distant boyfriend's impassivity, is a perverse, grotesque quality masquerading as something admirable. You might find yourself wanting to kick this sandcastle in by the 10th song, except the last two are totally worth saving.

— Jessica Suarez, April 3, 2008 - Pitchfork