Plexorjet made essentially the kind of music that enterprising critics would have labeled art rock back in the '70s, post-punk in the '80s, and math rock or post-rock through the '90s. Any of the above would probably still suffice, in a pinch, as a description of City Under Seige [sic], even as it slips out from under the thumb at every turn, but by any definition, Plexorjet's imposing, multi-storied soundscapes produce a complicated beauty and inspire an equally complicated sort of admiration. On the one hand, the music can be experienced -- often obliges you to experience it, in fact -- as an immediate, surface phenomenon. The mostly instrumental songs make an epic first impact, the sonic equivalent of encroaching storms that abruptly flood the zone after first hanging back on the horizon, fierce, sweeping mélanges -- moving walls, really -- of guitar and Moog propelled forward by rhythms as complex as they are forceful. On the other hand, the music is so textured and labyrinthine, so full of competing tensions and shifting modalities, that it practically compels you to immerse yourself as deeply into its mysteries as possible, to untangle, and then attempt to understand, its component parts. Throughout, there is a dark, driving poetry to the music that makes it nearly impossible to pin down and even more difficult to describe, but City Under Seige certainly rewards sustained efforts. The two Durant brothers would pick up a third sibling a couple years down the road and record equally pithy and fascinating music as Rizzudo, that trio's first effort sounding for all intents and purposes like the sequel to this marvelous album.
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AllMusic Review by Stanton Swihart