| Tinymixtapes |
 "I’m part of the scene," Richard Swift sings on the eponymous opening cut of his new album, The Atlantic Ocean, but it’s difficult to imagine exactly which scene he could be referring to. Swift operates in Harry Nilsson-mode, not just in his proclivity to craft pitch-perfect piano pop, but in his cheerily stubborn refusal to stick with any apparent formula. Last year found him exploring electronic soundscapes as Instruments of Science and Technology and blown speaker blues and dub with his Swift as Onasis project. His early career was only slightly more cohesive: Walking Without Effort tackled quiet spirituality via early ’70s Laurel Canyon pop, while The Novelist channeled his grandfather’s ghost through Tin Pan Alley radio-waves. Dressed Up for the Letdown, his proper Secretly Canadian debut, is the closest he’s come to establishing a defined “sound,” its gorgeous, sepia-toned West Coast pop lending itself to classic bummer-record status, but even that was subject to mood swings, alternating jaunty numbers with quiet, mellow ones....full text |
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| Slantmagazine |
| Spry and creatively unmoored, Richard Swift's The Atlantic Ocean breathes life into boilerplate piano-man song structures, with the artist, though stationed mostly behind the ivories, peppering his songs with a joyful collusion of other elements. Swift's expansiveness is evident from the opening title track, which outfits its bouncy piano with effects and competing synth lines running on parallel tracks. The songs overflow with horns and electronic touches, but remain grounded in standard jaunty piano arrangements. Sometimes these touches are small, like the oscillating synth lines that elevate the piano shuffle of "Song for Milton Feher," but their effects are unmistakable, granting otherwise familiar compositions an air of complex whimsy. Yet for all the restiveness exposed by the music, these songs suffer from a general malaise, a surfeit of non-catchy circling vocal selections that hinge on unsatisfying lyrical premises. Swift's voice remains lively throughout, but his lyrics seem to settle where his music soars, forcing the songs down into repetitive ruts. Lines like "I will listen to your every word" on "Feher" and "Everyone knows when they're gonna die" on "R.I.P." echo like half-assed mantras, stalling the creative buildup and killing any previously earned momentum. But Swift's songs are otherwise too lively to be entirely brought down by these bland moments, espousing a generally sunny, intelligent feel and brimming with creative imagination. Despite sometimes dissolving into monotony, the mood remains light, and Swift's playfulness, evidenced by moments like the falsetto opening of "Lady Luck," keeps things in check....full text |
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| Popmatters |
Richard Swift is a time traveler. Most musicians’ studios are bursting at the seams with vintage instruments, a dizzying array of effects pedals and processors, and a preponderance of recording equipment—not to mention some herbal digestifs for inspiration. Swift’s studio, on the other hand, is relatively sparse. It requires no more space than a small (air-conditioned) storage unit or, more likely, your parents’ basement, because it houses only a single, singular device: a purple and gold, egg-shaped pod retrofitted with a beat-up La-Z-Boy recliner just big enough to fit Swift himself. The device, which I affectionately like to call the Swift-E-3000, contains a small keypad and a modified IBM XT computer circa 1983. It is from the Swift-E-3000 that all of Swift’s musical ideas spring forth.
Here’s how it goes down, as I imagine it. Every few months, Swift takes a brief respite from touring and promoting his growing discography. He tosses a few Fruit Roll-Ups, a box of Teddy Grahams, and a Capri Sun six-pack into a satchel, slaps on a Huffy helmet, some racing goggles, and a pair of leather riding gloves, and hops into the Swift-E-3000. Using his incredible imagination and the Swift-E-3000’s keypad, he enters the ingredients for a new song, selecting values for several customized Swift-E-3000 song variables: I.N.T.R.O...1982. V.E.R.S.E...1975. B.R.I.D.G.E...1920. Within moments, the Swift-E-3000 is up and running. Its lawnmower-sized engine whirs and sparks and Swift is off to various musical eras to collect parts that he will eventually combine into a song—or, as it’s referred to in Swift-E-3000 lingo, an amalgamation of distinct aural equations with an underlying thematic matrix event. After about a year-and-a-half and a dozen or so spins in the Swift-E-3000, a new album is born. (Side note: The Swift-E-3000’s computational unit refers to an album as the coalescenci of a profusion of an amalgamation of distinct aural equations with an underlying thematic matrix event. Or sometimes: “a bad slamma jamma.")...full text |
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