Recording artist: Wildbirds and Peacedrums
Release: The Snake (LP)
Notable tracks: Got a pen and something to write on? Know shorthand?
Money quote: “She’s got a hold on me. Not in a tasty way.”
Recommendation: Buy it five minutes ago
Status: Straight to the Best of 2009 watchlist

Regular readers are at least familiar with the eyebrow-raising band name, as the duo has already appeared once on these pages, in mid-October. The featured track was a curious stop-start piece with heart-shattering vocals, barren instrumentation, and a huge gospel finish. Bizarre? Absolutely. Groundbreaking? Um, yeah. And it was christened, appropriately, with the succinct and telling name “My Heart.” The song shows terrific promise, but frankly the listener who only stops there has no idea.

Wildbirds and Peacedrums — that is, Mariam Wallentin and Andreas Werliin — are a married Swedish couple who met at the University of Gothenburg’s Academy of Music and Drama. Existing fans may feel a quick pinch of disappointment with the idea that this project is little more than a final exam, but interviews with the band reveal Wallentin’s and Werliin’s nagging unrest with the formal classroom structure. Music belongs outside of school walls, not inside, and their rage against that particular machine is soon evident.

To put it simply: this ain’t no homework assignment. And do not confuse their drums-and-voice lineup with a White Strips knockoff, either. They are the furthest thing from. Listen again to “My Heart” for a primer. It is one of the more accessible pieces on the album:

The other work is similarly experimental, but every piece is distinct from the next. “Today/Tomorrow” is a drum solo on wheels. “Places” flirts with scat, with honey light, tickle-your-feet jazz, and with full scale, full throated R&B, done up diva style. “There Is No Light” hints at art rock. The album opens with the half-tribal, half-Middle Eastern “Island.” In a recent blog post Wallentin pines for Istanbul, and her taste for the exotic is evident throughout this album. “Great Lines,” for example, manages to sound both psychedelic and Turkish. “Liar Lion” sounds like a band of sassy gypsies.

Complaints? There are few. Maybe “There Is No Light” belongs more in a modern art museum than on a commercial release. Global fixes required? None whatsoever. Disappointments? Not a one.

Or rather, there is one, at least indirectly. The LP was released in early July. You’ll wish you’d first heard it four months ago. Don’t run.