In The Valley Below Isn't Terribly Peachy

You've got a problem when the most creative element of your band ends up being the title. In The Valley Below hails from Echo Park, California. Happy-go-lucky temperament. "Peaches" doesn't lack for offbeat effects. Keyboards are humorously infused. The guitar work demonstrates neither member of the group relies on anything other than a tongue-in-cheek approach to their craft. The sticking point lies with how the main chord arrangements loop around and around. Variation becomes an alien concept. Both Angela Gail and Jeffrey Jacob can be proud they are so ingratiating on delivered vocals. Seduction carries them far. I say we're looking at a split vote. The harmonies click wherever, whenever. Tensions dissipate thanks to lyrics that open up a visual can of worms or three. I don't mean to hint that full bodied optimism guides this ship. Far from that really. I hone in on line two..."Everybody got disease maybe it's alright." Human condition reference much guys? The second stanza won't likely talk a suicide risk off a ledge either. "Working on a feeling, breaking down the ceiling, digging up a deep end, freezing on the beaches. Very heart wrenching. Angela's tolerant of a great many things, be it his drinking all week or stepping on her. Her in stride response continues to be "It's alright". These two have a funny side. You can tell from the video. They possess dedication to their art. Together at the mike they're in sync, a cohesive united front. I hate that those chords staying stuck in one note tedium rob "Peaches" of what might have been a touchable bond between artists and audience. At times the whole "baby it's alright" commentary gave me flashbacks to "Road To Nowhere" the zestful Talking Heads song which also used an offbeat vid to widen their presence as a unit. Regrettable how omitting a few chord modulations sinks "Peaches" Him with his facial moss plus her with her gorgeous and mysterious dark hair. There's something unsettling about someone tearing you apart in the dead of night. That's grist for any town's local police blotter. You talk about suggestive lyrics leaving little to the imagination. How about "Reaching for the sweetest peaches." The inner caveman in you knows what I'm driving at. It's nothing like the fruit The Presidents Of The United States of America referred to. Their fruit lived and died off loose-jointed silliness. We hint at the not so forbidden fruit in Angie and Jeffrey's case. Life could be best breathed into "Peaches" were the musical flourishes allowed to break loose with regularity. Instead the one trick pony chord threatens to submerge anything that could be even remotely thought of as novel. In closing "Peaches" may not be the pits but as part of a balanced musical diet you'd be wise to fill your grocery bag elsewhere. Man cannot live off innuendo alone. Nor can music enthusiast.