Nick climbed into the rafters of the hall to hang a mic from a thirty foot cable which Dan swung across an amp kicked over and feeding back from Alex's guitar, so we could warp the sound with the Doppler effect of a passing racing car or a diving spitfire on What She Came For. A gaggle of obscure and long forgotten 70's synths were mobilised for the likes of Can't Stop Feeling & Lucid Dreams. Sometimes, on the likes of Live Alone, we'd go super hi-fi and tight in the dead room, then, on tracks like Send Him Away we'd rock out in the cellar under the stage, playing to one mic, so it sounded like it was just you and the band in the room. We rattled human bones for percussion on No You Girls and sang into the darkness, nothing for company apart from the tingle on your spine and the ghosts of the Saturday night dancing. Anyway, here it is. Tonight: Franz Ferdinand. You can listen to it quiet, but it's better loud. You can listen to it during the day, but it's better at night.
Omni – the band, not the hotel – are from the former home of the Braves: Atlanta. Playing lo-fi pop that channels the specter of the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, Omni brings you back to an era where any sane person was reeling from the unfulfilled promise of the Space Age and Age of Aquarius bleeding into the looming threat of “Morning in America.”
Omni distills the buzz and grit that snakes through the best of Television, Devo, and Pylon into surprisingly danceable, hook-laden slabs of raw, angular, sonic bliss. It’s still the summer of ’78, and pushing the roots of rock & roll to its limits remains in vogue. “Deluxe” serves as a fresh reminder that rock music can work outside of blues rooted, formulaic progressions without playing it safe behind a wall of effects.
Arty enough to impress record enthusiasts, yet melodically attractive enough to transcend to those who’ve never asked: “’Sister Midnight’ or ‘Red Money’?”