It takes about four songs to grasp the sound of Mute Math, and four more to grow tired of it.
The group produces polished synth-rock that is technically intriguing, though not groundbreaking by any means. A handful of the songs on the self-titled debut grab the listener's attention, but the majority of the record offers ample opportunity to doze.
The band trails off after the first half, leaving much to be desired. Not a good start for a band that waited three years to record a full-length release. Evidence of a bottle-rocket trajectory won't be easily dismissed, and audiences aren't likely to be patient with these newcomers.
Mute Math was formed by a handful of musicians who had previously floated about in the late '90s rock vacuum.
It is probably best to regard Mute Math outside the context of its post-nu-metal genesis, though. The album's electro texture works better in the absence of Linkin Park associations.
The disc is not without redeeming qualities. Vocalist Paul Meany exerts perfect control over his radio-friendly alterna-rock voice, setting the lyrics somewhere between Filter and The Police. Meany also mixes the recordings, successfully blending live instruments and samples without cluttering the sonic plane.
Greg Hill's jangled guitar work holds tracks like "Typical," together, before rendering itself obsolete through recurrence.
The fast-paced and enigmatic "Chaos" is a strong point on the CD. Meany rattles off the catchy hook, "I know you stay true when the world is false/everything around breaking down to chaos," affecting a Jamaican ska accent that compliments the rapid drum loops.
Bassist Roy Mitchell-Cardenas and drummer Darren King seem to hold back at times, allowing for heavy sampling and programming to compensate, failing to deliver a much needed boost in the rhythm section.
Mute Math is a well-crafted project that suffers dramatically from repetitiveness. The album's singles will be seen sharing iTunes playlists with Lost Prophets and heard for about thirty seconds in the background of "The Real World," but overall the album is a one-trick robot, stuck somersaulting in place.
Photo: Courtesy of Laron Fomby
