What would it be like if when you opened your mouth to talk-- instead of words-- music came out? I mean, picture it: late night with your lady, arm cozied up around her on the sofa as the credits roll on the pandering chic flick you rented from Blockbuster. What better way to keep the sexy going than parting your lips and seducing her with a mouthful of Hammock? Or better yet, you're barreling down the highway when some jack off in an H3 swerves into your lane causing you to slam on the brakes and spill your latte on your crotch. Nothing like catching up to him, rolling down your window, and spitting a few MoTA tracks his way. So much more gratifying than the finger.

So, somewhere between sex and revenge lies happiness. And quite simply, there would be no better way to provoke that underrated emotion (come on, this is post-rock) than to open your mouth to mutter hello and instead produce a line of Cue. As your lips bend and bow to blast the enthused greeting, your friends eyes widen with immediate curiosity and delight at the foretaste of your vocal motions. Hairs shoot up on the their neck. Bells and whistles percolate in their ears and beads of sweat collect on their forehead.  You get the idea: instant, overwhelming joy. Really loud joy at that.

The Austin based (so-much-more-than)chamber rock quartet yank out all the stops on Wedding Song, fusing ebullient violin-led tracks with bone-rattling rock passages to create a record that bounces, skips, and sails along on post-rock hydraulics, soaring over countless other acts who teeter below on shabby, homemade stilts.

Within minutes of the initial spin, we are taught the violin does not have to be a sad instrument. Tight, happy strings zing to life on “Wedding Song for Living Things and Dead Things”, an Irish-laced romp into the chamber rock world. Sounds seem to bounce off  invisible walls between the artists, melding and molding into a carousal of dizzying proportions before screeching to a complete halt. Tiny bells chime in briefly, like the corner of a growing smile, before the ride blasts off again in an exhaustive, celebratory fury.

The energy does everything but fade on “Can You See My Skeleton?”, where we are yet again treated to a feast of string work, before a paunch roll of percussion sweeps in in near perfect harmony, and the two take a trip down memory lane back to the minutes prior, packed with the raucous of crashing instrumental precision. The latter half of the track shifts slightly, as a piano makes a guest appearance, skimming along gentle lines and breaks, joining up with the rest of the crew. It plays out like some young summer day at the stream, skipping stones and dipping your feet in the water beside snickering friends. Simple, quaint, and yet bursting with moments that will later become pivotal memories.

The disc thunders through the six remaining tracks, using the above-explained framework, slightly tweaking or moving things up or down a notch in various places to shift the compositions. Inducing a piano solo here, lining a quiet passage with a vocal harmony there, and even scattering a bit of brass in the mix. However, the key components stay the same: strong strings, balanced instrumentation, and breaks that rip through the speakers like a temporary cease fire, barely lasting long enough to catch your breath, before another (smiling) grenade erupts.

Whether the repetitive song structure is a weakness or not, is up for debate. There is a large amount of diversity present in each song, but under the layers the patterns become evident after repeated listening. Regardless, the passion injected into every song on the album, every second on the disc, is impossible to ignore. Sure, this was an undertaking produced in a studio like any other, but you can't help but anticipate a surge of live applause as each track barrels to a close. The songwriting demands it.  Better yet, it calls for an open mouth and a quick flick of the tongue. Just say it. CUE. And pass it on.

-Jonathan Brooks