Whether or not the association with origami is intended, Papermoons is nevertheless a fitting moniker for a band whose sound is a shapeshifting melange of fragile soundscapes and zen-like calm. On last year's New Tales LP, the former Houstonians' music flits around various elements of indie-dom's softer side, never really landing on one discrete sound — "country-ish emo" comes close, but doesn't tell the whole story. The whole affair is bathed in a sort of woozy, pseudo-psychedelia that would feel at home alongside the "Cosmic American Music" of latter-day Gram Parsons disciples like Beachwood Sparks. But Papermoons' sound is defined not by the duo's influences but by subtly brushed drums folding in on understated vocals while eloquent guitars — sometimes just brash enough to have an impact, sometimes just a jangle away from a Big Star record — keep things moving forward. It's a shuffling pace the Papermoons keep, as if they're not in a hurry to get where they're going, a feeling reinforced by the general sense of nonchalant melancholy that pervades their songs. This is emotional music without being a Hallmark card.

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Nicholas L. Hall is a husband and father who earns his keep playing a video game that controls the U.S. power grid. He also writes for the Houston Press about food, booze and music, in an attempt to keep the demons at bay. When he's not busy keeping your lights on, he can usually be found making various messes in the kitchen, with apologies to his wife.
Contact: Nicholas L. Hall