Send "Mum " Ringtones to your Cell 
| Allmusic |
 Mum made a big change in their sound with Go Go Smear the Poison Ivy, replacing their lead vocalists and favoring a more focused approach than they did on their earlier albums. Sing Along to Songs You Don't Know isn't quite as drastically different, but it shows Mum's sound is still in flux: while these songs still show off the band's exquisite ear for detail, they're much less overtly electronic than their earlier work or even Go Go Smear, trading most of their naïve-sounding beats and synths for quirky but decidedly acoustic touches like prepared piano, marimba, hammered dulcimer, and a string quartet. The results are bustling, pastoral, indie pop that is often strangely outdoorsy and subtle -- parts of Sing Along to Songs You Don't Know feel like one long song. Of course, there are standouts: On the winsome side, "Sing Along" goes from big and brassy to a campfire singalong with music box accompaniment, while "Prophecies and Reversed Memories" bounces along on ukuleles and Jew's harps. Mum haven't lost their flair for drama, though, as the gorgeous, slow-building strings and marimba of "A River Don't Stop to Breathe" -- both of which turn frosty on the majestic "Illuminated" -- prove. These songs are among the finest Mum have written, even if they sound more than a little different than much of their discography. Indeed, what may be most impressive about Sing Along to Songs You Don't Know is how fully the band seizes the opportunity to change while keeping their wide-eyed essence. "The Smell of Today is Sweet Like Breast Milk in the Wind" boasts one of the band's most daring arrangements, throwing together a tinny beat that sounds like it's from a toy instrument with Afro-pop tinged guitars, swooping synths, and strings, yet the singsong melody is pure Mum. The track stands in direct, almost jarring contrast to the hazy folk of "Last Shapes of Never," "Blow Your Nose," and "If I Were a Fish," and the closing lullaby "Ladies of the New Century," but Mum's ability to make these sounds play (mostly) nicely together on the same album is a testament to how their sound continues to evolve....full text |
| Musicomh |
| Iceland's Múm - the name seemingly a made-up word with no real-life meaning - are often described as pioneers of folktronica, their previous five albums since their inception in 2000 displaying much of their homeland's trademark quirk and charm. This time round sees a soft, almost restrained collection of tracks, perhaps making up in mellifluous calm what it lacks - sometimes - in the fire and dazzle that characterised much of 2007's Go Go Smear The Poison Ivy. The drowsy vocals, particularly apparent in the album's opening and closing tracks (If I Were A Fish, Ladies Of The New Century), the breathiness of A River Don't Stop To Breathe, and the soporific repetition used on several tracks all contribute to the creation of a discernable and distinct atmosphere. This is a band that can create and maintain a world of its own, with its own internal logic, then gently share it with the listener. The key theme here seems to be water. From the opener's ponderings on the likelihood of romance between a fish and a seashell, to the underwater sounds running through tracks like the excellent Sing Along, to numerous references in titles (A River Don't Stop To Breathe) or lyrics ("In these words we drown", "Bathwater tides come in", "The last shapes of someone / Who swims in the dark deep lake" and so on), a liquid ebb and flow pervades the whole album....full text |
| Drownedinsound |
| Their fellow Icelanders Sigur Rós may have built a career on taking the intimate and local and revealing it as part of a grander whole, but Múm have always been less about expansive gestures than inner landscapes. Sigur Rós are the cloud clinging to a gently curving horizon; a haze of microscopic plankton in a softly glowing ocean; the zoom-out framing one among five million wildebeest roaming the plain. Whereas for Múm, the smallest of details are a spotlight for secret, solitary fears: bushes rustling at night, wisps of incoming mist, delicate cobwebs springloaded with a waiting spider. This melancholic wonder framed by twitchy, glitchy, superawareness pervaded Múm’s first three albums. Sometimes, as in ‘Green Green Grass of Tunnel’, from 2002’s Finally We Are No-One, a wan sunbeam or two would break through to warm listeners’ hearts. With the unsettling maritime atmospheres of 2004’s Summer Make Good, however, Múm were only life-affirming in the sense of imparting a collective shiver to remind you of your own frailty....full text |
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