This came out in 2001 – or at least that’s when I got it. Here’s what I said about it back then (with some minor editing):
The fontanelle, if you didn’t know — and I admit I didn’t — is the soft spot on a baby’s head. Which gives lazy rock-crit wags like me an easy hook when it comes to describing this Portland post-rock instrumental outfit’s experimental sound: It’s kinda spongy, it’s brainy, it’s improvised of the top of their noggins, yadda yadda yadda. All of which is, admittedly, true, if a tad too tidy. In truth, the subtle sonic interplay of this keyboard-and-guitar driven sextet bears more resemblance to the dark, sparsely percolating ’70s jazz-funk fusion of Miles Davis than to, say, the post-rock clunk and scratch of Tortoise. F’s seven tracks — 37 minutes of music left over from last year’s self-titled album — walk a fine line between intuitive and intelligent, expansive and introspective, left brain and right brain. Spot on.
