The Microphones

Reviewed by Aaron Shuman

Monday, September 13 1999, 6:25 PM

Orchestral in range, Don't Wake Me Up offers movements of the balletic and the bowel. Beneath guitars that chime in music box time, The Microphones drop four track poo poo bombs of feedback and discontent. I want to say the lead singer is a look-alike for Morrissey, and the tender ruffian Moz always wished to have learned a lesson from Marvin Gaye, who learned it from Lester Young, which is: relax, and your voice can float and ride over anything. But Don't Wake Me Up isn't that pretty.

It's pretty close, though. Adenoidal at its furthest reaches, Don't Wake Me Up is a music of little touches: the prog-rock drum solo that carries away "Ocean 1,2,3" or the fuzz percussion that closes "Where It's Hotter," the threnody of angels that opens "It Wouldn't," or the emergence of Aphrodite on acoustic foam in the title song, the xylophone that cheerily calls time on several cuts or the clever samples thredded through them. This makes Microphones pretty and smart, which is good: it means they'll get laid again someday.

Perfect to listen to when you find your lover gave you syphilis, or the beaches are awash with hypodermic needles, or your ass doesn't look good in a swimsuit anymore. Microphones follows hormonal urges to the pus-caked mirror. Barbed wire kisses, indeed.

Don't Wake Me Up is a K Records release