For 12 years now, Diminished Men have been one of Seattle’s best bands. I say this every time I write about the long-running trio, hoping that it will increase their fanbase. So far, my advocacy hasn’t nudged Diminished Men much higher in people’s consciousness, but I’m not going to stop now. The group’s problem might be their tendency to rarely employ vocals, but that’s a strength in my book. What Diminished Men—drummer Dave Abramson, guitarist/bassists Simon Henneman and Steve Schmitt—excel at is eerie, ominous jazz rock that evokes myriad noirish cinematic scenarios. Their music occupies that strange zone where electric-era Miles Davis, Ennio Morricone’s ’60s and ’70s soundtracks, surf rock, and Can at their Tago Mago-est intersect. It’s no surprise that Alan Bishop’s Abduction Records issues their records; Diminished Men reflect Bishop’s omnivorous impulse to hybridize various styles into distinctive compositions. There’s much mystery in Diminished Men’s sound—as well as in their relative lack of notoriety. by Dave Segal