After nearly two and a half years in the making, Infinite Arms reveals some noticeable advances in Band of Horses’ already expanding creativity. Appropriately, the five-piece group took this creativity and ran in new directions. Just before the release of their last album Cease to Begin, the band relocated from Seattle to lead singer Ben Bridwell’s native South Carolina; and this new physical direction inevitably brought about new musical directions. Band of Horses has abandoned their catchy indie folk roots for a more wholesome Dixie drawl. Their third album carries a brooding – almost homely – feel to it. Written by Bridwell in a cabin in the Minnesota wilderness, the dozen songs making up Infinite Arms fluctuate between nagging sadness and giddy hopefulness.
A look at perhaps the worst track of the album, “Evening Kitchen,” ironically displays just how far this band has come. The song is at best heartfelt and at worst just mediocre, not necessarily skippable though; this speaks volumes of how much effort Band of Horses has thrown into this one release. The songs with the most country influence include “Factory,” “Older,” and “Neighbor.” The Southern undertones strangely seem to add to the songs’ quality instead of taking away from it. Clear splits from the widespread melancholy are “Dilly” and “NW Apt.” These tracks keenly echo the group’s alt-rock origins, forming distinctly optimistic breaks. One song sticks out for odd reasons; it is a bit difficult to take “Blue Beard” seriously when the polyphonic breakdown sounds too much like the hilarious Anchorman rendition of “Afternoon Delight”. The all-important best song though is a tossup between the first single, “Compliments,” and the title track, “Infinite Arms.” Although the former is catchier and better written, the layering techniques and genuine nature noises throughout the latter show telltale signs of higher production skills and focus.
Formerly insulted as “Fleet Foxes plus reverb,” Band of Horses can now claim a truly unique sound. Any listener can hear in this new sound a heightened love for nature. These five men are no tree huggers, but with their move to the South came a deep harmony with all things outdoors. The fact that the band assigned a separate Chris Wilson nature photograph and hand-drawn illustration for every single song exhibits their fresh attention toward image and detail. With focus and natural talent comes amazing results. Although not infinite, Band of Horses’ abilities will take them far.
Brooklyn-based trio Yeasayer amble back from a three year self-induced exile with what sounds like a trippy jungle-clearing drum circle turned synth-heavy blip hop rave: Odd Blood. With their second full-length album, this tight-knit group of family members (lead singer and bassist are cousins) and childhood friends (lead singer and guitarist grew up ogether) step away from the urban folk roots of their acclaimed debut, All Hour Cymbals and reach out to an equally appealing subcategory of the musical spectrum, electronica. As on “Mondegreen” and “Love Me Girl,” quasi-frontman and lead singer Chris Keating occasionally takes a page out of Empire of the Sun’s book with his overly dramatic high-pitch utterances that cut the flow almost too noticeably. Unlike Luke Steele though, Keating knows he is no the emperor of any celestial bodies – or dance floors for that matter. This sophomore release does not disappoint the anxious fan craving new tunes to fill their oversized headphones. Fortunately, Yeasayer has managed to find the happy medium between sticking to the familiar and experimenting with the foreign.
Although Odd Blood touches on styles from several eras of musical and artistic evolution, Yeasayer remains at its core a psychedelic band hat enjoys challenging itself. Indeed the most spot-on description of their sound came from the three gentlemen themselves: “Middle Eastern-psych-snap-gospel.” Guitarist Anand Wilder steps up his game, innovating new and even more transcendent distortions for the ear’s pleasure. “Strange Reunions” is a glorified jam session of which any Cry Baby critic would be proud. Bassist Ira Wolf Tuton proves he is certainly not afraid to fan the flames of experimentation; occasionally transforming his four strings into a digital flute like it is no big deal. The slow, tongue-in-cheek ins and outs of “The Children” display an unheard of grandeur for “that other string instrument” – the much-too-often ignored bass. Vocalist Chris Keating shows the most noteworthy strokes of genius of the album; even if he is unwilling to admit it. Keating is the heart and soul of Yeasayer. He vents an increasing curiosity with synthesizers like a kid with a new toy on his hands, not quite fully mastering it before putting it to real use. Rolling and thumping through the thickets of raw poetry, the fatherly ballad that is “Ambling Alp” attests to Keating’s songwriting talent in case this whole keyboard business does not work out. No need for precautions though. The warped bass beats and oh-so-danceable ivory riffs of “Rome” form easily the best song of the album…and perhaps the year.
Often compared to the likes of Animal Collective, MGMT, and Grizzly Bear, Yeasayer despises the idea of “scenes” or any gathering of several artists dictating what sounds good or bad. What sets these three musicians apart from other under-the-surface bands can be summed up with one word – chemistry. As evident on their lovable, energetic La Blogotheque sessions, the members of Yeasayer know each other through and through, their strengths and weaknesses, their preferences and pet peeves. With only two songs under three minutes in length, this sophomore release proves that Yeasayer is no mere throwaway indie blip on the radar screen. Odd Blood begs for dissection, ushering forth new discoveries with every listen.
Everybody’s favorite east coast Jewish-American afro-pop quartet, Vampire Weekend, accomplishes a few things – perhaps more than they might have aspired – with Contra, their second full-length album. After keyboardist Rostam Batmanglij worked out some music management kinks last summer with his collaborative pool-party-mix triumph (Discovery – LP), Vampire Weekend’s sound as a full ensemble hits the ears of longtime fans as something abnormally fresh and worthy of stationary break-dancing. But Contra caters to the new listeners seeking a decent place to start too. With tracks like “Cousins” and “Holiday,” novices to the witty foursome can witness VW ever-so-subtly hark back to the catchy lineup of overly repetitive riffs and beats that was their self-titled debut. Fortunately for defenders of independent music, this band’s sound has shifted to the point of deserving a dignified double take.
Shamelessly depicting such nuisances as melodramatic Nietzsche-crazed youths in “Giving Up The Gun” and the paradoxes of modern college students psyche in “California English”, lead singer Ezra Koenig coolly sidesteps the hallowed sophomore slump curse as any forward-thinking songwriter would. Koenig relishes in his past follies, makes them intimate and personal – only now can he mock and poke fun without losing self-worth. The occasional voice cracks of “Run” and the boyish shrieks and swoons of “White Sky” add to the comforting idea that growing up is not the same as accepting boredom and dull ennui.
Rostam Batmanglij seems nonplussed with his band-mate’s new direction and certainly has plans of his own concerning track arrangement, instrument selection, and even unexpected cross-genre influences (“Diplomat’s Son” features an M.I.A. sample that cleverly fills the soundscape between Koenig’s verses). Much like a musical Kurt Vonnegut, Batmanglij boldly unveils new aspects of his creative style without reinventing his art to the point of disassociation. He defiantly recommences the old signature marimba base beats that earned the band much negative feedback from the critical “authorities” of the day; yet display VW’s deep respect for some of the world’s most sincere music – West African percussion.
Despite being dubbed the “whitest band” two years ago (by none other than the founder of Stuff White People Like, Christian Lander), Vampire Weekend lashes back after a brief hiatus of recharging and realignment with Contra, a track list more like the intersection of experience and fun than the straight-as-an-arrow highway that forms most sophomore efforts. Who needs music industry guidelines anyway?
After nearly two and a half years in the making, Infinite Arms reveals some noticeable advances in Band of Horses’ already expanding creativity. Appropriately, the five-piece group took this creativity and ran in new directions. Just before the release of their last album Cease to Begin, the band relocated from Seattle to lead singer Ben Bridwell’s native South Carolina; and this new physical direction inevitably brought about new musical directions. Band of Horses has abandoned their catchy indie folk roots for a more wholesome Dixie drawl. Their third album carries a brooding – almost homely – feel to it. Written by Bridwell in a cabin in the Minnesota wilderness, the dozen songs making up Infinite Arms fluctuate between nagging sadness and giddy hopefulness.
