Dick Diver has matured with each new album, refining their melancholy pop into a finely sculpted mash of new wave sheen, early 2000's indie pop heart and a metric ton of workaday malaise. Their third album thrums with layered production, again recorded by longtime collaborator Mikey Young, and they've found a way to keep an inherit sense of space about the record while allowing touches of brass to filter stabs of grandiosity into their fairly humble pop. There are moments that bring to mind a more jangled, rough-edged Beulah, though here's hoping Dick Diver don't languish as long in under-appreciated category as they have. There's a strain of sighed exhaustion that permeates Melbourne, Florida lyrically, more so than even abounded on Calendar Days, and while in the hands of a lesser band that might come off as mopey; Dick Diver make the disheartening moments of daily life feel profound. They've had two strong albums in the run up to this moment, but here they take a giant step up to what's certainly their best work yet and a strong contender for the top spot in 2015.
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