XXL
Dude

I was just saying that Jamie Stewart, at this time, is not exactly staying still. After yet another great album with that tank woman Angela Seo, now the constant element of his creation Xiu Xiu, various splits, appearances here and there, featuring, noise experiments, stray songs, here he is again with the very Italian Larsen for the third piece of the XXL (Xiu Xiu Larsen) project. Music which, while confirming Stewartian poetics, musically, deviates from it considerably. 
When I first listened to the first work of this bizarre group, I was shocked. As a big fan of the eternal perverse Californian child, I expected anything but this.

Because the music of XXL has none of the typical desperate abrasions that characterized all of Stewart's projects, even the more accessible ones (IBOPA, Ten In The Swear Jar), but it is elegant and perfect. Crystalline in its long compositions, with post-rock textures and glimpses of gentle electronic that are enveloping. Occasionally he appears, as beautiful as always, to sing over it with extreme self-control. Incredible, but true. Stewart, with the Larsen freeing themselves from every catharsis in the background, manages to express himself with his recognizable and original timbre, but makes it warmer, melodic, sweet. I was shocked in front of a splendid ballad named "Little Mouse Of The Favelas" and I am even more shocked in front of the eight compositions of this new work.

Stewart is here, but he is increasingly less palpable (seven instrumental tracks and only the last one sung) and there is the doubt whether this is, in fact, the new album of Larsen, with a small appearance of the icon of new millennium discomfort, more than a collaboration. The sentiments of "Dude" are, incredibly enough, positive. You listen to it and it hugs you, envelops you with extraordinary beauty, with an almost immediate ability. Pieces that caress, illuminate immensely, and become sunsets to listen to. "Dude" does not stand out too much, not even compared to the first two XXL records, which had those songs that managed to disturb in their exasperated composure.

On the contrary, this chapter is perfect as a background for wonderful images projected onto a white wall. Only two peaks distinguish themselves: "Krampus", which is an acoustic and precious spell that sends shivers down your spine in its simplicity, and the final "Vairie", with Jamie's voice arriving unexpectedly to shake things up. And there you remain, hypnotized. The rest, homogeneous, is a continuous dance of angels and sirens frolicking in a cloudy, yet bright sky.

It is not an album that will be remembered, it will never be a milestone of post-rock: it is "just" a small record, capable of giving you sensations and colors when you put it in the stereo. It is not great, it is not excellent, but there should be more works of this kind. 
Because it's true, I do not remember a single arpeggio (except for the two mentioned tracks) of those movements, but I have an insane urge to play it again. And let myself be lulled.