o when I first read about this release on Kranky’s website I was a little peeved. Actually, pretty pissed. A band I love finally gets on a big indie (or “back on” in this case- due to their brief stint on Siltbreeze) and they use the opportunity to reissue a year-and-a-half-old release. I whined about it for a while, but my petty griping has slowly faded away as I’ve realized this album could very well be Charalambides’ finest moment. The Texas trio obviously has more fine records to come, using their minimalist guitar and pedal steel approach, but for now Unknown Spin is easily the pinnacle of their catalogue. I don’t know how I managed to avoid coming to this conclusion without Kranky’s intervention, but I am indebted to them for helping me finally see the light.

The problem, of course, is the band has been incredibly consistent in the quality of their work. As such, it’s easy to miss the truly perfect album among so many undeniably excellent ones, especially when such a fine line divides them all. And when a band works so easily within a clearly-defined model and rarely wander far from a successful path, it’s hard to criticize. Each album takes on the effect of a single flower by the roadside, one no less beautiful than the last. With such fertile territory, it’s hard to think of a time when they will run out of (or be forced to recycle) material.

So what exactly is the fine line that separates Unknown Spin from the rest of Charalambides’ recent work? It’s basically what doesn’t happen on the disc that sets this one apart. In almost any improvised setting something is bound to go awry. It could be an actual musical mistake like stepping on the distortion at exactly the wrong moment or hitting a completely inappropriate note, or something out of the musician’s control, say a car engine outside or a chair squeaking as someone shifts in his/her seat. Just once does the latter occur and, because of the flawlessness of the rest of the proceedings, sticks out like a sore thumb. The fact that the entire album was all recorded live in a single day nearly makes me sick with jealously.

The disc opens by focusing on negative space, filling in the cracks with meager pieces of sound begging to be fleshed out. About four minutes in, the instruments hit their stride (though it’s really more of a poetic crawl) and the pace for the rest of the track is set. As the vocals come in, they take on the role of instruments, much like any previous release by the group (or Scorces, the duo featuring the vocalists Christina Carter and Heather Murray). Rather than singing lyrics, they simply harmonize in tones that seem to alternate between accompanying and leading the music. The women’s voices are often described as haunted, and though they certainly don’t come across as eerie as on some Scorces albums, they are closer to this feeling than any other here. “Unknown Spin” continues on for nearly half an hour, never losing focus and certainly never letting the listener either.

Clocking in at about ten minutes each, the three accompanying tracks vary slightly in general tone and expression, wandering less than the all-we-have-to-offer sprawl of the opener. These tracks narrow the focus even more, singling out a different aspect of the band and bleeding it dry. “Voice Within” is most like the opener, despite the pockets of silence are replaced with low-end resonance and sustain. Also different are the voices. Here, they sound as though there are actual lyrics being sung, but it may just be some type of sound poem. The distortion laden “Magnolia” follows, heavily emphasizing on the guitar work of Tom Carter. Closing out the disc, is the simplified two-voices-and-a-guitar “ Skin of Rivers” where the ladies’ vocals play as excellently off each other as they ever have. The three tracks together give a good glimpse into the Charalambides universe that new listeners will surely appreciate. Anyone initially put off by the length of the title track could surely go back after hearing these smaller doses and hopefully reconsider.

To be honest, I couldn’t recommend this record more. Anyone reading this site could easily lose themselves in this music. It may be minimalist and drone, but it is overflowing with a humanity and emotion that make it nearly irresistible. Charalambides have far more in common with Low than Stars of the Lid, though they could also be seen as the haunted bridge between the two.