Spectreview: iji – iji

iji are even more eclectic and unpredictable than ever on their whimsical self-titled album.

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“Don’t know how to call
Don’t know how to stay tight
I don’t know why”

Over the last fifteen or so years, Seattle’s Zach Burba has quietly made a name for himself as an adventurous musical soul, and his projects have run the gamut from dusty Americana to dissonant experimental pieces to dry-heat pop confections that showcase his link to Phoenix’s DIY scene. Central to his music is a certain West Coast style of aloofness, where ambition surfaces in the sonic details rather than any conceptual umbrella. iji songs exist in the grime of the tour van and the vacant stretch of the parking lot, but the lushness of the music – the arrival of strings and saxophone and plunked piano – often betrays its humble setting.

iji, the band’s newest record in five years, zeroes in on another preferred motif of the West Coast: a fleet-footed psychedelic pop that leans slightly toward cuddle-core. It might be the Seattle institution’s first self-titled record, but it’s a long, long way from their debut. Without knowing anything about the band, you can tell based on how startlingly accomplished the arrangements are, how encompassing and thoughtful the production is, and how very track feels like a separate biome in one giant ecosystem. Unlike 2015’s excellent Whatever Will Happen – a discoesque, comparatively weary predecessor that felt as much Destroyer as Deerhoof – this record bounces with a more explicit sense of joy and discovery. From its rollicking opening track to the jazzy, spacey “Party’s Turn” all the way to the sunny “Lizard,” iji bounces between styles at a enthralling pace and rarely settles on one mood. 

Central to Burba’s music is the spirit of collaboration: over the last decade, he’s worked under countless lineups and with a sprawling number of artists. iji features even more high-profile contributors than ever, from Big Thief percussionist James Krivchenia to Frankie Cosmos frontwoman Greta Kline, yet the vision consistently remains Burba’s, which is ultimately a tribute to its strength. Like other iji albums, his thin, off-kilter voice is the common link between these disparate tracks, and once you get used to its idiosyncracies it becomes a comforting presence. This album arguably contains some of his strongest performances, including his close-miked outbursts on the lovely, swaying “Much Oblige” and his  hushed octave-shifting on the fantastic “Something To Say,” which itself is crucially buttressed by equally fantastic backing vocals by Mega Bog’s Erin Birgy. But where Burba’s voice is one of the only recurring factors across the record, the greatest pleasure lies in a sense of unpredictability, in turning a corner and finding a spirited harmonica solo (“I Don’t Wanna Ever Go Back”) or a distorted breakdown (“The Ultimate In Relaxation”) or an accompanying violin (courtesy of Austin Larkin on the stop-start bubbling of “Merger”). Nothing seems to be off the creative table, and that eclecticism pays off heavily. 

For a self-titled album, iji’s eponymic status is extremely fitting considering how it embodies what has always been the act’s greatest strength’s: instrumental variety, unpredictability and a vital sense of collectivity. Apart from that, it’s simply another stellar, successful release from a ever-wandering talent that should appeal to those who need their sense of of musical discovery revitalized.

Highly recommended for responsible microdosing.