Cassavetes is proof positive that a band doesn’t have to be experimental to experiment. The Atlanta quartet doesn’t do anything patently outrageous or archly weird in that Tom-Waits-channels-Captain-Beefheart, bang-on-an-anvil-with-a-rusty-rake fashion. It’s just that they approach their folky Americana from a hazily psychedelic perspective. Take “Song for a Singer" from their debut, Funny Story, for instance; as it ambles along in that gauzy way that Jeff Tweedy directs Wilco, vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Robbie Horlick mumbles the cryptic lyrics (they’re included, without a decoder ring) in a style that suggests Mike Nesmith on a quart of tequila, so that, like Michael Stipe on early R.E.M. albums, Horlick’s voice becomes an additional instrument rather than a vehicle to impart a specific lyrical message. There are moments of exquisite melodicism and moments of reeling dissonance, sometimes within moments of each other, as on the lurching “An Ancient Mistake," where Cassavetes imagines Radiohead as an American folk band from the South. There’s plenty of textures floating in the sonic atmosphere; feedback, a lonely trumpet and white radio noise all drift through the title track’s tentative and melancholy, after-hours piano melody. And just to show they can, Cassavetes rocks with boozy abandon (“Moved So Slow") and fumblingly deliberate charm (“My Heart, Your Beat"), like a certain solo Replacement we all know and love. It may require a couple of listens to fully comprehend Cassavetes’ motives; it’s easy to hear what they’re doing, the challenge is in hearing what they’re thinking.

Brian Baker - Amplifier Magazine