Acetone’s languid, shimmering sound stood in polar opposition to the guitar grunge that defined the mid-‘90s “alternative rock” explosion from which this album emerged. The trio transposed the understated, groovy interplay of the Velvet Underground’s third album to the whitewashed sprawl of Los Angeles. Everything Richie Lee ever sung emitted from his body as a fragile breeze, gently falling across the undulating, tidal motions of his band’s music. Like breaking waves, Steve Hadley’s cymbals linger reluctantly with every tap. Throughout the album, Lee’s bass remains interlocked in symbiotic friendship with his two bandmates, but it is Mark Lightcap’s stunning guitar work that puts Acetone in another class. Lightcap’s deliberation and liquiform soul phrasing is learned directly from Curtis Mayfield and Sterling Morrison. Perhaps the most pelagic album ever made by a guitar group, Acetone captures the lolling, forlorn rhythms of the California coast while simultaneously translating the undercurrent of loneliness and unease endemic to L.A. living. Few bands have been able to listen as closely to their city.