Interweb denizens still geeked over old My Bloody Valentine records clamor for Kevin Shields to make with more overcaramelized, drowning-on-dry-land pop, but with acts like Asobi Seksu updating MBV with fewer cooks in the kitchen and better production values, why should he bother? Citrus'
sleeve and plastic casing are as hot-orange as the swollen, shoegazing gush therein, bighearted and huge as the summer is long and your liter bottle of Crush is sticky-sweet. Asobi Seksu lets its organ-'n'-guitar clouds clear often enough that the whole is more satisfying than suffocating, and the crack rhythm section is prominent enough in the mix that one feels always just on the verge of tumbling headfirst into the band's cotton-candy reverie. Singer Yuki Chikudate is the band's true propeller, her high, piping voice mirroring and slicing through the neon haze, bridging and upsetting the differences between English and Japanese like a young Natalie Merchant did on 10,000 Maniacs' Hope Chest