|
 In-Flight
Movie
By
John Brodeur
Andrew
Bird
Noble
Beast (Fat Possum)
Virtuosic
violin playing; confident, almost muscular whistling; a whimsical
sense of melody—all the things that add up to make Andrew
Bird Andrew Bird are on display in “Oh No,” the breezy but
ponderous opening track from Noble Beast. That ponderous
quality follows into the opening moments of the seven-minute
“Masterswarm,” a wandering slow-build that does a whole lot
with very little: Acoustic guitar, hand claps, and the singer’s
ever more expressive voice are adorned by plucked violin strings,
single-note tremolo guitar, and that trademark whistle.
Bird also is known for his shape- shifting, anything-goes
performances, in which the performer and his band build around
live samples of voice and instruments, forming densely layered
clouds of sound from a few hands and voices. But with Beast,
Bird seems to have finally figured out how to marry the unpredictability
of his live show with the endless possibilities of the studio.
The modern-age claustrophobia that sometimes cluttered his
last album (2007’s Armchair Apocrypha) is largely out
as the instrumentation here is by and large organic, the arrangements
expansive but sparse, giving the melodies room to swoop and
soar and dart about the landscape.
And boy, do these melodies soar: “Effigy” is truly one for
the ages, but there’s a winner in every song. Bird the lyricist
is still a tough nut to crack, so wrapped up in words that
it’s unlikely even he understands what he’s saying. But when
music sounds like this, who cares what it means?
Halfway through the album—the closing moments of “Nomenclature”
through the final pluck of “Anonanimal”—the beat-obsessed
performer of Apocrypha reemerges. Even so, the placement
is dramatic in context, to give the album shape. When Beast
calms in its final third, you know you’ve been a part of something
beautiful and true, an experience you’ll find yourself drawn
to revisit time and time again.
 Barons
in the Attic
Greatest
Hits Volume II (B3nson)
By now, the B3nson family’s reputation as a sort of musical
circus is pretty well established around these parts, but
until recently, one ring has dominated the show. As ringleaders
Sgt. Dunbar and the Hobo Banned work toward national recognition,
the fortunetellers, bearded ladies, and sword swallowers are
getting their own share of the limelight. While labelmates
Beware! The Other Head of Science blast a synth charge through
the collective’s lo-fi envelope, Barons in the Attic stick
to the uninhibited B3nson jangle on their self- produced debut:
a record that captures the infectious living-room-guitar-party
energy of their live shows. In no place is this better displayed
than on “Talkin’ About Walkin’ Around,” an exuberant testament
to and antidote for those “Albany blues” we all feel from
time to time. The tracks can sound a bit haggard—evidence
of the home recording—but, then, both the effect and its cause
are kinda the point, and in no way limit the band’s sonic
palette. “Charlie Jean” features a great dirging bridge of
bells and accordion, and the woozy “Tango Song” takes its
shape from both clanging and fuzzy guitars, trombone, xylophone,
and vocalist Matt Hamilton’s searing harmonica. In the end,
it’s the songwriting that stands out, as tempos leap and fall
without forewarning, and tunes resolve in beer-swinging sing-along
codas. It’s hard not to join in at the end of “Cemetery of
Ex-Girlfriends” with the refrain “We’ll sing songs, love songs.”
Just as it can be difficult to determine where in the B3nson
collective one band ends and another begins, it’s hard as
a listener not to feel like you also have a place in the mix.
But then this, too, is kinda the point.
—Josh
Potter
Animal
Collective
Merriweather
Post Pavilion (Domino)
English band Spacemen 3 once attempted to sum up their whole
oeuvre in one album title: Taking Drugs to Make Music to
Take Drugs To. Whether they were successful in their quest
is debatable—I personally think they were terribly overrated,
but I’ve also never been a junkie so I may have missed the
point. I’ve also never tripped on ecstasy, but I get what
Animal Collective are going for on their eighth LP. With Merriweather
Post Pavilion, the Baltimore act accomplish the opposite
of what Spacemen 3 set out to do—that is, they make music
to take drugs to make music to. It’s expansive, wild, and
ultimately inspiring stuff; “Summertime Clothes” will make
you want to strip down and run for the nearest open field,
and it’s freaking February, man. Few songs have captured
the invigorating power of sunshine this well; and the whole
album conjures that same disorienting but life-affirming feeling.
Everything here sounds like “Revolution 9” and Pink Floyd’s
“Echoes” crushed and cut and snorted. This may be the most
refined Animal Collective album in that its melodies hew closest
to what’s commonly referred to as “pop,” but there is nothing
common about this music.
—John
Brodeur
|
Site
Search 
