The Wake

Sometimes, packaging doesn’t lie and the fact that Grayshot’s latest EP, Waiting Days, comes in a startlingly white case embossed with Ikea-approved designs is not insignificant. You see, this Minneapolis duo makes the aural equivalent of their cover: bland, inoffensive, evocative of something good, yet ultimately unsatisfying.

The problem is that Grayshot don’t really have an identity. Waiting Days sounds like the kind of “sweeping,” “operatic” pop music that has found a mainstream foothold in the wake of bands like Coldplay, Snow Patrol, and Keane, (two of which are referenced in the band’s bio) slickly produced and ready to be dropped into the closing scene of Gray’s Anatomy. None of the instrumentation, production, or vocal choices showcase originality or spirit beyond popping in a copy of A Rush of Blood to the Head and furiously taking notes. If you want to know what the album sounds like, simply close your eyes, imagine the words “sweeping” and “melody,” and you’re probably hearing Grayshot or something like it.

Honestly, it’s really hard to review an album that doesn’t stray outside of a very narrow formulaic range. You can’t really tear it to pieces because there’s nothing there and you can’t really praise it because, well, there’s nothing there. It just exists in all of its vanilla-flavored glory.

Here’s what it comes down to: If you’re really in need of a fix of sensitive-guy, pseudo-indie balladeering, then, yeah, support your locals and buy Waiting Days. Otherwise, you may want to hold out for something with some signs of life.