Half Price at 3:30 is ostensibly a neo-psych album, but incorporates a multitude of interesting and inventive flavours. Its opening track ‘Dtime’ formally resembles Cocteau Twins; scuzzy, washed-out, affirmative and ecstatic. Compositions have the feel of Joni Mitchell or Joan Baez. Everything seems geared in service of vocal melodies which climb and collapse, delivered in a gentle vibrato. Shuffle beats and finger-picked guitar further strengthen the association. But Art Feynman combines these myriad influences into a wholly unique package.
Feynman’s vocals are autotuned and post-processed almost without exception. In the early 2000s, these production techniques accrued status as cheesy or maximalist. In years since, they have undergone a shedding process. Now they signify a plaintive, delicate work—and Feynman plays these two roles against one another. Half Price at 3:30 positions itself at the unnerving intersection between goofy and truthful.
Vocals sit at the forefront of mixes, and a tension results from their simultaneous clarity and obfuscation. Feynman also distorts his voice though natural means. His delivery and timbre switches up between tracks. For instance, on ‘Physical Life of Marilyn’, he adopts the eccentricity of Ashes to Ashes era Bowie.
This wilful fragmentation of identity defines Feynman’s album as something both intimate and guarded. It is as though a truth is being laid bare or confessed, but only partially.
Songs’ structures similarly conceal intentions, defy themselves, unravel and transform. Often they act as lures, disarming with chilled first halves which develop into an ambitious jams or crescendos. ‘Ideal Drama’ and ‘Night Flower’ are both stunning examples. They're infectious and unpredictable tracks which could have sustained their length twice over. As a whole the album conceals itself—its generosity comes track by track. Feynman keeps you chasing a stick while feeding you carrots.
Half Price at 3:30 seems disinterested in the idea of ‘cohesion’ in an album. Songs share only loose commonalities. This permits a greater sense of freedom and unpredictability than many other neo-psych offerings, which eventually collapse under their own lack of experimentation. Too few acts in the genre recognise the irony of imitating a genre defined by its journeys into uncharted territory. Feynman allows this album, again and again, to unpeel a layer from itself to reveal more beneath—but never reaches the core. His reticence and guardedness, then, serves a vital purpose. It preserves the sense that this album is a gift which can never be exhausted.
Half Price at 3:30 is available for purchase and streaming here.
Words: Andrew O’Keefe