It's impossible to tell what's going to be timeless. When something is new it seems as likely to be a fad as anything else. This is especially true for music, double that for pop. It took a few decades to establish jazz as the go-to sound for class and leisure regardless of era, just like it took a similar span to name the throbbing 4/4 beat the standard for dance clubs whether it's disco, techno, industrial or any other style. In the past few years I think a similar canonization has occurred for jangly folk-rock. It was a sound made popular by the likes of The Beatles and The Hollies, later to inspire the singer-songwriters of the 70's like James Taylor, fuel the 80's college music of R.E.M. and the sensitive alternative scene of the 90's a la Counting Crows. These days, the emotional, intellectual sound of evolved folk is a favorite of the indie world and it's no less affecting than it was fifty years ago. For a pleasant tour through that sound, look no further than The Clientele and their new mini-album Minotaur.

At 30 minutes long (five of which aren't even filled with music), Minotaur seems designed to be nice, if a little inconsequential. It's a collection of unreleased tracks from The Clientele's recent catalog and it has only been given an initial 1,000 copy pressing. It can also be purchase from Merge Records in two digital formats (MP3 and FLAC), though it's clearly less of a business endeavor and more of a "catching up with" record for fans who are going through withdrawal since last year's excellent Bonfires on the Heath. Minotaur is eight tracks long, two of which clock in at under two minutes. The first of the short-shorts, "Strange Town", definitely sounds like it could be stretched another minute or two, though the proceeding "No.33" is just a melancholy instrumental that serves as a lead-in to the reading of "The Green Man", a short story in the surrealist style the band generally favors.

Most of Minotaur is fairly low-key, with the exception of an electric guitar interlude in the second minute of "Gerry". Even then, most of the track is a jaunty tune with jazzy percussion and expertly layered melodies. The title track is, like much of The Clientele's work of the past couple years, fundamentally autumnal. It's a little wistful, a little chilly and rather pretty. The small brass arrangement in "Paul Verlaine" warms things up a bit, as do the occasionally hints of funk throughout the album. Those little touches keep Minotaur from being dreary, even if it's still a "coffee and crunchy leaves" kind of record.

If nothing else, The Clientele's Minotaur can serve as a sonic palate cleanser in between more substantial albums. I wouldn't exactly recommend it as a point of entry for those who are unfamiliar with the band, but it'll definitely please long-time fans who need a fix of Alasdair MacLean's accented vocals and Mel Draisey's gentle piano treatments.