Poke around the internet and Hey Rosetta! get slapped with the flat “indie rock” tag, but in reality, Seeds is far from plaid-clad pop and, in fact, reaches even loftier heights than its ambitiously-titled predecessor Into Your Lungs (and around in your heart, and on through your blood).
What the six-piece trimmed in wording they made up for in actual song writing, even ditching the lofty epithets for concise song titles, which intentionally or not, reflects what a tightly written record this is.
But don’t let that mislead you into thinking this is one of those “back to the basics” rip-off deals; it’s just to trick you into thinking it’s simpler. What Seeds lacks in obvious grandiosity it makes up for in moments of subtle brilliance — listen to the way “Yer Spring” creeps into its jilted climax, which is equal parts huge and concise and rhythmic.
There’s an urge to compare them to that other literate-rock-with-violins band on the shortlist this year and it’s not entirely off-base, but Seeds lacks the pretension of The Suburbs and will certainly come off as more accessible, maybe even more personable and definitely more fun (take the downright bouncy title track).
It’s the little details and quieter moments that really push the album, like the beautiful “Parson Brown (Upirngaangutuq Iqalunni),” which runs the band through its full gamut with the introductory piano to raucous distortion drive, and a tongue-in-cheek(-in-esophagus) take on throat-singing.
Seeds is the ideal Polaris candidate from a “political” standpoint: it’s the sort of local gem that might not get its fair shake on a global stage, but can really bloom with this push into the spotlight.