Vancouver's The Book of Lists (headed by erstwhile Destroyer band member Chris Frey) released the Red Arrows EP, their first studio recording, in 2005. Nigh on two years later, we've got their eponymous debut full-length, an eight-song (just two more than the EP) jumble of sonic and stylistic contradictions that shouldn't coalesce but occasionally do. First, there's the muffled lo-fi quality of the recording, which constrains the band's big, potentially enveloping sound. It's an unmistakably contemporary album that sounds like it was put to tape on period recording gear for a more complete retro effect. Then there's the pudding-thick shoegazer guitars interspersed with classic jangle pop - imagine mixing early Catherine Wheel and Swervedriver with an equally early Camper Van Beethoven. Finally, there's the flamboyant glam element (resting primarily in Frey's idiosyncratic vocals) that crashes headlong into everything else.

There are some great hooks here ("The Bathers," "Eating Silver," and "Lost Weekend," a real highlight), and even the shamelessly masturbatory six-string digressions can be enjoyable at times. But, the band's debts to Creation Records and Bowie notwithstanding, the amateurish, Bolan- or LSD-inspired mess called "Moon Balloon" and the faux industrial darkness of the segues on "Troy" drag the quality down a few crucial notches. Leaving these two back-to-back tracks off the disc might have left The Book of Lists with another EP on their hands, but it would have made for a less tiresome and self-indulgent album overall. – Eric J. Iannelli (2007, The Daily Copper)

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Hailing from the fertile soil of Vancouver, British Columbia, The Book of Lists looks back to the days of yore when the Psychedelic Furs, The Smiths, Jesus and Mary Chain and all those hep cats ruled the roost. It’s a refreshing break from the endless parade of screamo stuff that permeated the soil of indie rock for the last umpteen years, if not always a wholly successful one. The problem with Book of Lists and the bands that it draws inspiration from is that the music’s always been more about atmosphere than, well, music. As groovy as moments of “The Bathers” and “Journey East” are, too much of this record gets bogged down in being mood, smoke and mirrors, mirrors and smoke and fog. Not a bad entry but hardly a great one either. - Jedd Beaudoin (2007, The Daily Copper)