It should come as no surprise that a band called Cryptacize plays music that is, well, a bit coy. The band often seems to tiptoe around the issue at hand, with drums that don’t so much keep rhythm as hint at its possibility, and guitars that lay down conceptual riffs much more frequently than actual ones. You can hear what the band’s getting at, but it plays hard to get. As with schoolyard crushes, the effect is at once maddening and elusively thrilling. You can’t quite tell what Cryptacize is up to, but you’re pretty sure you like it. Every once in a while, they’ll give you what seems to be an opening. A song, or even just a passage, will show off a different side of Cryptacize — maybe bringing in a bit of rock, just to show you the band has a wild side. Then it’s back to peeking at you over the top of a library book, looking away just as you catch on. You know how it goes. Keep looking, though. Soon enough you’ll catch those furtive glances, and, knowing you both know, something special will happen. You’ll realize that all of it — the shy, quiet moments and the brazen moments of unrestrained passion — were all for you, and that there was never really a difference between them. Nicholas L. Hall
This article appears in Jun 25 – Jul 1, 2009.
