El Ten Eleven

It doesn't take long to get into El Ten Eleven. Hell, I was hooked a few songs into the L.A. post-rock duo's self-titled debut. Then, toward the end of my listen, I got a call from a blocked number. It was "Dave," who had dialed the wrong number, but didn't know it yet. For some reason, I get an extraordinary number of misdials, typically from people who sound like they're calling a crack dealer. After this happened a few times, I started having conversations with them until they realize what's up. So after telling Dave I was just chillin', he asked what I was listening to. I told him it was El Ten Eleven, and even though it didn't sound as though he had heard of them, he was clearly feeling it. Sadly, he realized about 15 seconds later I wasn't who he thought I was, so I didn't get to ask him whether it was the textured richness of their instrumental wanderings or how they put their effects pedals to work in a masterful way that most shoegaze bands can only dream of. I mean, I'd like to think Dave just has a good ear for experimental post-rock, so he'd probably love their latest disc, These Promises Are Being Videotaped. Anyway, the number was blocked, so I couldn't call back to get a more in-depth critique. But if it's good enough for Dave, it's good enough for me.
Fri., Oct. 30, 7 p.m., 2009
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Brian Bardwell

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