Amazon.co.uk Review
In every sense of the word
Give Up, the debut album from American Electro beatniks the Postal Service is a remarkable record. Born of a chance meeting between Ben Gibbard, singer of Seattle indie-rockers
Death Cab for Cutie and LA resident and
Dntel lynch-pin Jimmy Tamborello, and written and recorded by post--hence the name the Postal Service--it's an inspired, if unlikely, marriage of lo-fi innocence and hi-tech beauty. Gibbard's voice is filled with the insecure questioning normally restricted to recently dumped singers in emo bands. Tamborello's clicks, bleeps, analogue murmurs and eerie scraps are the stuff of inaccessible bedroom electronica. Together though, they find a sensual middle ground where stories of jilted lovers and fragile desires softly prick the emotions on a tidal wave of otherworldly synthetic sounds. "The District Sleeps Alone", with its tripping beats, bittersweet computer strings and tragically uplifting hook is melancholy at its most tender. "Sleeping In" is a joyously sunny daydream; a naïve vision of how good the world could be. And everything else falls somewhere between the two--equal parts heartbreak and hope, to form a strange and wonderful dimension where electro-pop has a soul. --
Dan Gennoe
CD Description
A side project from Death Cab For Cutie frontman Ben Gibbard and Jimmy Tamborello, who formerly played with synth-poppers Figurine but now records as Dntel, the Postal Service creates bedroom electronica with surprising emotional pull on GIVE UP. Ten tracks lyrically convey both a youthful ennui and the nostalgic ache of longing. Tamborello creates a tense sonic space that allows Gibbard's spare yet careful guitar to occasionally chime in and cut the tension.
While Tamborello's sculpted electronics hearken back to the minimalism of early Depeche Mode, Gibbard's expressively fey vocals and emotional sentiments lend a warm, comforting contrast to themachine-age chilliness (as do the occasional backing vocalsfrom Jen Wood and Rilo Kiley's Jenny Lewis). This contrast is best illustrated on "We Will Become Silhouettes", when Gibbard sings "[A]nd we become silhouettes when our bodies finally go", only to be followed by a string of optimistic bleeps that are the sonic equivalent of a miniature sky full of twinkling stars.