(In The Red, 2007)01 Moon Beeps
02 Secret Signals
03 How To Improve Your Hearing Without Listening
04 Dating Cops
05 Tubes
06 Sailor Dive
07 Rooms & Bags
08 The Outer Echelon
09 Our Solar System
10 Deuteronomy
11 Block of Ice
12 Bad Siren
13 The Receptionist
"The Intelligence are demanding attention in and beyond the Northwest, creating a new direction in sound based on the fundamental elements of bands like The Fall and PiL, yet beneath the post-punk clang lies a serious pop sensibility. These pop chops have never been more noticeable than on Deuteronomy, the band's third full-length. Finberg swears that The Zombies' Odyssey and Oracle as well as early Bee Gees albums influenced his direction, though it sounds like Here Come The Warm Jets might've had a hand in it as well. Finberg also chose, for the first time, to forego the home recording approach he's used in the past and employed the use of Mike McHugh and his Distillery recording studio to get the most full-bodied, fully realized Intelligence recording to date."
"If musicians painted images with their instruments, The Intelligence's soundscapes would be set in a grainy, ash-gray world, among piles of scrap metal and busted machinery, with discarded computer parts blinking in cobwebbed corners and factories belching out toxins at irregular intervals. It'd be a black-and-white wasteland of humanity, a post-apocalyptic industrial revolution, warmed only by the distant loops of a delayed, disembodied guitar riff. At the center of it all would be Lars Finberg, delivering deadpan lines like "Going out with you is like going out with a cop." He'd be pounding bent garbage-can lids with one hand and programming distorted beats on his keyboard with the other, a one-man laboratory of intoxicating post-punk experimentation."
"If musicians painted images with their instruments, The Intelligence's soundscapes would be set in a grainy, ash-gray world, among piles of scrap metal and busted machinery, with discarded computer parts blinking in cobwebbed corners and factories belching out toxins at irregular intervals. It'd be a black-and-white wasteland of humanity, a post-apocalyptic industrial revolution, warmed only by the distant loops of a delayed, disembodied guitar riff. At the center of it all would be Lars Finberg, delivering deadpan lines like "Going out with you is like going out with a cop." He'd be pounding bent garbage-can lids with one hand and programming distorted beats on his keyboard with the other, a one-man laboratory of intoxicating post-punk experimentation."
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