Joy Wants Eternity

w/the Purrs, Half Light

Thurs Aug 4, High Dive, 9 pm, $5.

SPACE ROCK CAN be an elusive genre to define, what with so many bands exploring the reverb function and setting sail on introspective, interplanetary rides. Occasionally you'll hear something that's unquestionably linked to that aforementioned sound—like, say, actual audio from outer space, of which www.world-science.net posted clips recently (it has 13- to 73-second samples of eerie radio waves from Saturn. Now that's some awesome reverb. Sample that planet into your next mix). A little closer to Earth, local space-cases Joy Wants Eternity perform stargazing astro pop/post rock that could soundtrack the view from the shuttle Discovery, so long as the astronauts were on a gentle ride. (Joy Wants Eternity offer images of "star clusters near the center of the galaxy" on their website, just to further the point.) Their ambient sound unfurls comfortably, layering keyboard melodies over amber guitar riffs and astral drones, similar to Kinski's lighter moments or Slowdive's wordless sprawls.

The band released their debut EP, Must You Smash Your Ears Before You Learn to Listen with Your Eyes, at the end of last year and they're currently working on its follow up. (They seem to record in odd places—colleges instead of studios.). And KEXP recently put Joy Wants Eternity's songs into rotation (they should fit seamlessly into DJ Riz's late-night electronic show, Expansions). The disc disconnects from the confines of the terrestrial world almost completely, except when a man's voice penetrates the ether on "H. L. Mencken"—named after the renowned journalist and iconoclast—for a discussion on romance among martinis, but even his words are eventually drowned out by distant beeps moving closer and icy sonic winds. The band are more concerned with mood transport than verbal expressions, keeping the hues pastel and the overall aesthetic weightless. NASA may be physically launching humans into the unknown, but bands like Joy Wants Eternity keep them orbiting up there—if only for the length of six celestial songs.