Blind Pilot 

I'm still surprised that a bigger fuss isn't being made about Blind Pilot. Or maybe I'm not. This is a band over which you make a quiet fuss. First you have to give yourself some time leaning on windowsills and staring out at the rain and feeling a little blue to really get down into your fuss. Plus, you need to get past the part where you crush fairly hard on Israel Nebeker's iteration of the pop hiccup "uh oh," which he does with the feathery lightness of someone who is afraid of waking your napping cat. These guys are sensitive. They might be too quiet for me sometimes. Would it kill Israel to yell a little? Could Mr. Dobrowski give those skins a solider's whack just to change it up? No, better keep it mellow and steady. Don't mess with that misty Oregonian ennui; instead, revel in its morose brume.

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Rumor has it the upcoming album—due for release in September—is heavier on the happy, lighter on the sighing. But there will still be some sighing, definitely plenty of adorable people playing their instruments in a dedicated and pleasing fashion. Plenty of space to sigh in.

Blind Pilot plays the Badlander Monday, July 25, at 9 PM with Weinland and Butter. $8.

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