The Phoenix Foundation: Pegasus

(Herald rating: * * * *)

There's a fine local tradition of instrumentals on pop records - the Clean, a touchstone influence for Wellington's Phoenix Foundation, swore by them. And Split Enz chucked a few about the place in their day.

But the only thing stopping this from being a five-star wonder is the slightly disjointed effect caused by three of its eight numbers being bereft of singing.

It's not to say the wordless tracks aren't engaging. Hitchcock, didn't win best unreleased track at last night's b.Net awards for nothing. It's more Vertigo than Psycho, with its Kraftwerk-on-a-budget throb, spiralling synths, music box chimes and electric saxophone. The happily chintzy Sea World and the credits-roll chamber piece of Twilight are equally cinematic.

But they create a problem that many a band would love to have - they lessen the impact of Sam Scott's songs. Just when Pegasus is starting to promise one psychedelic pop wonder after another, it's smoko time for the singer. Oh well.

On their first album, Horse Power, this beardy bunch fair bristled with ideas and the sort of offbeat references that made them the rock critic's new best friends. They do that again, but that's not what makes this second album even more praiseworthy, it's the emotional clout the songs and Scott's airy melodies carry.

Sometimes this reminds of the exuberance of the Front Lawn's classic first album (David Long, one of the Songs from the Front Lawn players, plays guest banjo on Nest Egg). Sometimes it recalls the indie acoustic elegance of the Go Betweens (All In an Afternoon). And how about that Damn the River or Slightest Shift in the Weather?

That guy from Coldplay would be proud to call Through the Woods his own. Pegasus comes complete with a riveting seven-minute centrepiece Cars of Eden, as its initial guitar jangle, pedalsteel, and spiky bassline curl into a drifting synthscape, complete with a dying-fly saxophone solo.

It's otherworldly stuff, grounded in fine tunes and wry lyrics.

Its fickle sense of momentum might hold it back from classic status. But Phoenix Foundation's second effort is still a quietly flaming wonder.

Label: FMR