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Active for more than 15 years in the Providence, RI, underground arts scene, Alec K. Redfearn has been involved with various local and regional ensembles as a musician, composer, and performance artist, but the Eyesores band is probably his most commercial and accessible undertaking. This, their fourth CD (they debuted in 1997), is not exactly a grab for the brass ring, but at least they've graduated to a nationally distributed label and may pick up a few new fans. They certainly deserve much wider recognition; their experimental Balkan/East European folk-inspired music is not only cleverly conceived, but executed with wit, style, and just a hint of darkness (a Transylvanian edge, perhaps?). Goth elements are reinforced by three minor-key vocal tracks with artfully morbid lyrics. At the time of this recording, the Eyesores numbered eight (with a guest cello and viola on several pieces), although one suspects that the band may be the kind of communal enterprise that expands or contracts from gig to gig. Instruments include string bass, guitar, horn in F, alto sax, violin, Hammond B-3 organ, piano, various percussion, and analog and digital electronics. Redfearn's wheezy, rhythmic accordions, both amplified and unamplified, are the dominant instrumental sound, and while much of his playing has an authentic folk base, his compositions and arrangements are filled with eccentric embellishments and exaggerations. Drones and repeated riffs in many pieces take on a hypnotic, almost obsessive quality, giving the music an almost demonic urgency. It's clear that minimalists such as Steve Reich have been a source of inspiration for Redfearn and the ensemble, which is most obvious on spacy little vignettes such as "Morphine Drip." But elsewhere, the minimalist sensibility is wedded to modal folk melodies, with some skronky free jazz energy dumped into the pot, along with occasional, totally unexpected electronic treatments, the most arresting of which are the beeper tone and then repeated rhythmic busy back signal on "Coke Bugs." The use of telephone sounds brings to mind another similarly oriented futuristic folk group, Simon Jeffes' marvelous Penguin Cafe Orchestra of a few years back. (Fans of the PCO may recall a strange little piece of theirs titled "Telephone and Rubber Band.") The affectionate distortion of traditional materials is common to both bands, and both serve (or served) as vehicles for the vision of an individual leader. (Jeffes died an untimely death in 1997.) But the English PCO had a stronger classical influence and was more refined and even whimsical, in typically British fashion. Alec K. Redfearn & the Eyesores, on the other hand, have a rougher, more visceral sensibility. They offer experimental future folk with elements of real dirt and sweat -- and a touch of mania. Highly recommended"

- Bill Tilland, All Music Guide

"Falling somewhere between psych-folk revival and free jazz, constructed from a diverse and unfashionable set of instruments including accordion, strings, glockenspiel, telephone and pots and pans, Alec K. Redfearn and the Eyesores' fourth full-length is as bizarre as it is appealing. The pieces change from moment to moment, evoking Eastern European folksongs, Indian sitar music, multi-part madrigals and the sweet-sour celebration of circus music. Although largely organic and hand-fashioned, the tracks also include a substantial measure of electronic sounds -- "Coke Bugs" is perhaps the most imaginative and musical use ever of that off-the-hook noise your phone makes when you don't quite get it into the cradle.

Redfearn is a composer, songwriter and accordion player from Providence, Rhode Island; he has made music for film, theater and dance performances, and his work has a definite theatrical flair. You can picture people dancing, people in costumes, people acting out obscure rituals, during almost all of these pieces. They are as much stage-set as free-standing compositions, a space against which unusual and foreign activities might be acted out.

The Quiet Room is divided between longer, more fully-realized pieces and short sound experiments. A 15-second collage of squeaks and blips ("Simian Fanfare") introduces the complex interplay of "The Night It Rained Glass on Union Street", while an equally short interlude of scraped strings and piano notes ("Walking Sticks") provides context "Punjabi/Watery Grave"'s hypnotic Eastern tones. Only the longer pieces provide the space required to appreciate Redfearn's skilled and collaborative band, a collection of eight regular members and two occasional members who weave an interlocking tapestry of rhythms, harmonies and dissonances. For instance, during "Punjabi/Watery Grave", the drum's pulse provides a foundation for arabesques of violin and accordion, with occasional flourishes of guitar. The sounds never move in unison, instead finding the space around one another in a way that simply would not be possible if the band were less able or less familiar with each other.

The album is mostly instrumental, but vocals occasionally rise out of the texture of the tracks -- and when they do, they're used more as instruments than conveyers of meaning. It's hard to make out the lyrics without a cheat sheet, but when they appear, they're oblique and interesting. For example, in "Bible Lite", interspersed with the percussive beat and intermittent blasts of noise, there is a small gem of free verse. A female singer describes the titular book, "boiled down to four prayers / to fit in your wallet... she folds the book even smaller wedges it like gum behind the seat / on the 99 bus / Someone will find it or not."

Many of the best tracks have no words, no voices at all, and are no less interesting for it. "Portuguese Man O'War", for instance, has the mesmerizing pull of good dub, all echoing drumbeats and dreamy, narcotic accordion and sax runs. The title track, with its hazy, hanging tones that shimmer and shift, is pure, brain-stem-level psychotropia, acting on you in ways that elude and precede words. The short, closing "Sonambulance", simple plucked cello notes overlaid with mournful accordion, articulates regret and introspection in a way that no lyric ever could.
This is wonderful stuff -- brave and experimental, yet warmly human. Make room on your folk revival shelf for something that may beinfluenced by folk, but is in no way a revival."

-Jennifer Kelly- Splendid Magazine

"The austere depression associated with New England winters calls to mind repressed Puritans churning butter in subzero temperatures and flagellating themselves for impure thoughts-or more recently, the unrelenting angst borne of too many months in unrenovated loft spaces without heat. Providence, Rhode Island's Alec K. Redfearn and the Eyesores embody this frigidity beautifully. His quiet tenor suggesting an east coast Elliot Smith, Redfearn apocalyptically mewls over a lone French horn, "Alone down in Olneyville, I'm waiting for the ice to melt off ten years of raw nerves." And as if that Providence neighborhood isn't wretched enough, when he repeats, "I've always hated Ohio," it sounds more like what he really loathes is himself. Themes of Judeo-Christian catastrophe are reinforced with accordion, the foundation of most of Every Man for Himself & God Against All: layered beneath everything (even utensils in live shows), creating a frenetic sound that reinforces feelings of hurtling toward inevitable expiration. Redfearn applies biblical imagery to descriptions of the DIY art-school scene from which the Eyesores grew-the same one that fostered noise-rock mainstays Lightning Bolt. "Temptations seep from the walls," Redfearn sings, against a happy, bleating Weimar Burlesque backdrop. 'And this little town is pure candy-ass, but it's got the flavor of sin we prefer.'..."

-Jessica Grose -The Village Voice

"...a complex mix of psychedelic folk, progrock, old-time country, acidic cabaret, dark circus music, and sinister dream fragments that haunt in recurring motifs; all built around the musical visions of one Alec K. Redfearn. Seasick sea shanties and ghost songs dance and weave in the shadows. Ancient spirits are invoked as avant garde experimentalism blurs the shimmering ritual. Organic human interplay warms these melancholic laments and celebratory exclamations with equal care and grace. From harsh nightmare riddles, to sweetly swooning tranced-out droning somnambulant reveries, or an almost indie-pop brightness, this is all well worth investigating."

-George Parsons- Dream Magazine #5

"The Eyesores are an accordion-driven, gypsy cursed, sour jazz band that specialize in funeral marches and hypno-drone trance music, among other, equally odd things...this is easily the most cinematic album I've ever heard from a bunch of locals...with all the oompahs and nautical chanteys and the filmy layer of dark, decadent fuzz that burrow through these bizarre little blood-sonatas like wormwood, the Eyesores are bad ass motherfuckers in an entirely new way. Recommended."

-The Noise

"(The Eyesores') Bent at the Waist has the lilting mysticism of gypsy ballads and the swagger of sea shanties. It's got the shameless emotion of the bedroom, the comforting atmosphere of the garage, and the craft and polish of serious music. The Eyesores jump around several subgenres of rock and folk music without breaking a sweat or turning an ankle. They use discord along side of melodic confection. They are gentle and harsh simultaneously. They rock without really rocking. They stagger and swear like a drunken sailor, but are still able to be sweet and charming. I like it."

-Edward McElvain- The Independent Mind-

"This is an amusingly complicated musical device, a jerking, juddering clockwork whose workings are difficult to understand but whose net effect is worthwhile. "

-Ink 19