Last week in the mail I received the second full-length from Queens’ The American Dollar, a duo comprised of multi-instrumentalists Richard Cupolo and John Emanuele. The band specializes in what I refer to as “climax” music: that critical sequence in a film when each plot point intersects, characters begin moving in slow-mo, and that all-encompassing “epic” music cue takes over. Maximizing an array of various keyboards, pianos, guitars, and live drums, The Technicolour Sleep (2007) is a cohesive assortment of instrumental mini-epics to soundtrack your next rainy-day moment of introspective meditation. Comparisons to French retro-futurists M83 aren’t entirely unjustified, although The American Dollar are notably more conservative in nature, taking fewer chances sonically to focus on their sole mission: aiming for the most direct route in reaching those delicate, prized heartstrings.

While not exactly pushing any envelopes, it’s pleasant stuff, to be sure. Most of the tracks on The Technicolour Sleep are built organically from the ground up, usually centering around a piano motif, and slowly expanded into minor-keyed symphonies of electronic sound. Predictable soft/loud dynamics are eschewed in favor of color and texture, with nebulous string pads, touches of eBow’ed guitar (always a good thing), and subtle electronic rhythms blended into the mix on occasion. Sure, Moby was peppering his albums with this sort of thing ten years ago, but where his efforts tended to translate as forced and contrived, The American Dollar sound like they’ve been playing this music for years. My biggest reservation with The Technicolour Sleep, and the chief reason preventing a two-thumbs-up blessing is one that I don’t use very often, but it’s a doozy.

These guys are in serious, dire need of a bass player.

And I don’t mean some four-stringed atomaton content to simply plug away at the root notes while Cupolo and Emanuele attempt the stratosphere. This band needs a fully-fledged member who does nothing but construct solid, well-defined lines with a warm and rounded tone; nothing too complicated, but it would make a world of difference here. Imagine a hot air balloon that has run out of gas, lingering passively in the sky, waiting for an air current to carry it to its inevitable descent. Without the bass, these songs drift along aimlessly, lacking any sort of gravity or substance, and Emanuele’s drum parts become nothing more than decorated click-tracks, sorely lacking a necessary musical complement. Intead of fully concentrating on the music itself, I spent the entire duration of the album thinking up basslines, humming them to myself, desperately wanting something to be there. Put simply, The Technicolour Sleep sounds incomplete.

Perhaps as a bass player I’m being a bit overdramatic, but the whole idea of bass-as-afterthought has always peeved me. There are nevertheless some fine tracks to be found here, “Time” being my personal highlight; a frozen, crystal blue landscape crafted around a simple piano theme, with augmented layers of guitars and keyboards folding it into a sparkling kaleidoscope of sound.

“Time” – The American Dollar 5:13 (The Technicolour Sleep, self-released 2007)

“Supernova Landslide” opens with a muffled swarm of static (in fact, one wishes for more experimental touches like this on the record) before blossoming into a chiming duet for guitar and piano. At 2:22 the track’s title suddenly occurs, exploding particles of sound into the mix as Emanuele crashes behind his kit and the wall of guitars pulses steadily. This track is just begging for its use as the cue for that key sequence in the next trendy indie sleeper film of confused twentysomethings.

“Supernova Landslide” – The American Dollar 4:38 (The Technicolour Sleep, self-released 2007)

My prediction is that The American Dollar’s cinematic taste for unabashed sentimentality will yield plenty of soundtrack opportunities, yet will prevent them from shedding their “studio band” status and rising to wider public acknowledgement. Should they modify their lineup to include the requisite bass player and perhaps another guitarist, they should certainly be a band to watch for.

Piero Umiliani “Lady Magnolia” To-Day’s Sound Omnicron 1971

Ah, those crazy times of the late ’60s. A time when one could write the score to a softcore porn documentary, go on to have a successful career as a film soundtrack and pop composer, and have his music featured on The Muppets. I’m referring, of course, to Italian musical craftsman Piero Umiliani, whose song “Mah Ná Mah Ná” for the early adult fim Sweden: Heaven and Hell (1968) found its way through appearances on everything from Sesame Street and The Benny Hill Show to Jim Henson’s famous puppet troupe, eventually becoming a number one hit in the UK in the late ’70s. Although Umiliani is one of Italy’s premier film composers, just shy of reaching the echelon of giants like Rota and Morricone, he was also well-versed in campy instrumental pop, the double-LP To-Day’s Sound (1971) arguably standing as his finest example. The record is 21 tracks of quality “library music,” meaning it was intended for license to film and television producers, commercials and advertisements, and essentially anyone else who was willing to pay for it.

Although there is a certain awkward rigidity to the some of the grooves here (hardly surprising, as many of the musicians were classically-trained studio drones), it tends to become part of the record’s charm after a few listens. “Lady Magnolia” is a slice of mild, Sunday-afternoon funk, riding a pimped-out mid-tempo groove with subtle touches of organ, Latin percussion, and the then-revolutionary Moog synthesizer, operated by Umiliani himself. Despite the fact that the whole “retro-lounge funk” movement was officially played-out years ago, run into the ground by hipster DJ’s and films like Ocean’s Eleven (2001), To-Day’s Sound still holds up well, likely due to the stylistic variety of selections contained on it. It tends to fetch inflated import prices in new condition, but used copies can occasionally be found for less than $20, and I’ve noticed that eMusic has it available for download as well.

“Lady Magnolia” – Piero Umiliani 3:26 (To-Day’s Sound, Omnicron 1971)