The Conch : moe. : Review : Rolling Stone

"Round on the ends and high in the middle": That line in "Where Does the Time Go?" from Moe's first album of new songs in four years, is an accurate description of the band itself onstage -- a rolling turbulence with twin tangled spikes of guitar. The Conch has plenty of that sunlit tangle, often in the least likely settings -- punching through the spaced-cowboy dismay of "Lost Along the Way," parting the dread in "Wind It Up." More than any other six-string team in Jam Nation, Moe singer-guitarists Chuck Garvey and Al Schnier embody the double-helix classicism of Sixties-ballroom San Francisco, and it is a powerful, vital salvation against the more immediate realism of the band's songwriting. The full-throttle charge of "Tailspin" comes with Dubya sound bites; "The Pit" is heavy penance with long solos. The Conch (the title comes from Lord of the Flies) closes with the stubborn, exhausted psychedelia of "Brittle End." But Moe don't walk off without a last blast of fight and twang. "Fuck a duck/Your tough luck/I'll be there till the end," sings bassist Rob Derhak. There's a lot of barbed wire in these good vibes, but the guitars cut right through.