Portland, Oregon collective Fontanelle were born from the ashes of space-droning indie band Jessamine, but even their earliest records hinted at a funkiness and sense of groove usually absent in delay-addicted experimental bands. Vitamin F is the first music to be released with the Fontanelle brand since Style Drift landed a good decade before it, and the album takes the electric funk influence that existed as an undercurrent on previous albums aggressively into the foreground. From the first seconds of opening track "Watermelon Hands," the band sounds so deeply couched in the glow of soupy fusion jazz like Bitches Brew-era Miles Davis that the sound at times borders on being an exercise in re-creating a certain era. When the band played around with different funky (and decidedly non-indie) elements on previous albums, it was slight -- the occasional dubby rhythmic clattering or a bassline that called to mind Herbie Hancock jamming with Can. Vitamin F, however, dives in head first to greasy funk, with a cast of added horn players taking the album's spacious and sometimes fried rhythms into straight-up jazz territory. Rhythmic skeletons of electric pianos and repetitive bass figures are decorated with heavily processed brass and sizzling guitar leads, all with a production lens that replicates the smoky, late-night vibe of early-'70s fusion records so well that the album could sit unnoticed beside Head Hunters or On the Corner. What keeps the album from becoming an irritating copycat is the thoughtful performances by seasoned players and also the implementation of subtle analog electronics throughout the jammy landscapes. For this date, Fontanelle feature not just founding members Rex Ritter, Brian Foote, Paul Dickow, Mat Morgan, and Andy Brown, but also a cast of friends and bandmates from Sunn 0))), Wolves in the Throne Room, Jackie-O MF, and more. The high percentage of metal and noise dudes helping out on a decidedly non-metal album (released on metal-mongering label Southern Lord, no less) still adds a feeling of refracted doom to the seven tunes. "When the Fire Hits the Forest" owes more musically to the Zappa-meets-Miles sound of its blistering fuzz trumpe