Since I last wrote about Spoon back in 2017, the esteem in which I hold the Austin, TX group has only increased. While their output over the last five years has consisted of compilation albums, it was a night in 2018 at the Täubchenthal in Leipzig, Germany, that made me appreciate a beloved band anew. 

Despite arriving late and with copious amounts of vodka coursing through me, and, yes, the latter just might have contributed to the former (shoutout to Nelson and Peach for tolerating my shenanigans that day), I could not get over how pristine the band sounded on stage. Whether it was the quality of their equipment, an incredible soundman, the acoustics of the room, or all of the above, the clarity of the performance that evening still rings through to me. Other than a solo-acoustic-in-a-tiny-club kind of show, I'm not sure I've ever heard an artist sound so clean and precise live. (And if you're wondering, that distilled spirit so prevalent in my body was not the reason for this auditory exuberance. My partners in crime that Saturday evening were similarly impressed.) I mention all of this because as I gave their new Lucifer On the Sofa a spin for the first time, I was instantly transported back to that night in Saxony.  

The band's tenth album is straight up Spoon rock and roll, and their most straight forward approach to a record in well over a decade. The energy crackles throughout, that crisp sound sparkling under immaculate production. Some of the songs might take a few listens to fully sink in, and I'll admit that the last few tracks do lose a little steam compared to the first seven, but the dynamism of the endeavor is palpable. It's a band locked in, unflinching in their approach, doing what they do best. Lucifer On the Sofa is Spoon in all its upright glory.