Since 2001, Moonlight Towers have captivated a growing number of Austin music freaks by flying in the face of convention: In a town saturated with beery punk, psychedelic sludge, and more roots than an Alex Haley novel, they dare to be different by embracing clean chord changes, rich harmonies, and classic lines without sounding like a cheap knock-off of all the bands in their record collections. Far from it: James Stevens' vocals are wistful without sounding weepy, comfortable but not cloying, and his rhythm guitarmore

Since 2001, Moonlight Towers have captivated a growing number of Austin music freaks by flying in the face of convention: In a town saturated with beery punk, psychedelic sludge, and more roots than an Alex Haley novel, they dare to be different by embracing clean chord changes, rich harmonies, and classic lines without sounding like a cheap knock-off of all the bands in their record collections. Far from it: James Stevens' vocals are wistful without sounding weepy, comfortable but not cloying, and his rhythm guitar provides a solid foundation for Jacob Schulze, who's even more adept with a six-string than a cocktail shaker. Jason Daniels' bass can be either punchy or unobtrusive, or both should the song call for it. And drummer Richard Galloway hits the skins with all the force in his burly frame, while contributing backup vocals that belie it. For the band's second album, luckily for the Towers, friends in New Orleans means a two-week furlough from Austin. A date in Piety Street Studio with producer Mike Napolitano (Twilight Singers, Neville Brothers Andrew Bird, Joseph Arthur) to get those long-gestating songs down on tape. Somewhere among the swirl of casinos, strippers, and sleepless mornings wandering the French Quarter, it happened. For eleventh-hour inspiration, Napolitano's apartment was conveniently located over a 24-hour bar. Thus was born Like You Were Never There, an album of golden ears, red eyes, and blue moods. Breaking up and making up. Spit and polish with a side of heartache. Britpop with a Southern twang. Late nights and lazy afternoons. Maxed out on love, with the repo man at the door. Stuck in a hole again, but a hole you'll want to curlup in and stay awhile. by Christopher Gray Austin Chronicle