Strange Mercy
St. Vincent
4AD
Annie Clark adopted the moniker St Vincent as an ode to famed poet Dylan Thomas’ place of death, The Saint Vincent Catholic Medical Center, so it goes without saying that she takes her music quite seriously. Strange Mercy is her second full-length album, an epic journey into her special brand of art pop.
John Congleton’s production on this record is truly stunning. A wide array of disparate sounds are juxtaposed, held together primarily by Clark’s oft-times impossibly fuzzed-out guitar riffs, which drop in and out of tracks like panicky thoughts.
Case in point is the single Cruel, which begins with delicate, ascending strings and vocals that sound as though they were plucked straight out of a feel-good film from the 1950s. As the song builds, more elements are introduced: a classy four-on-the-floor dance beat, a hooky electric guitar, and slowly climaxing synthesizers. But the unquestioned hero of the song is Clark’s strangled guitar solo halfway through, which is so distorted that it is barely recognizable as a guitar.
Surgeon is another highlight, featuring mellow synth pads, haunting reverb-drenched vocals and a slick little guitar riff that is vaguely reminiscent of the keyboard riff on Led Zeppelin’s Trampled Under Foot. It all builds to a terrifyingly dissonant culmination that sounds like what I imagine the inside of a schizophrenic’s head feels like on a particularly bad day.
Clark’s greatest gift is the effortless way in which she toys with song structures, folding sounds and melodies together in unexpected ways. She never fails to surprise, and that makes Strange Mercy one of most the impressive records I have heard all year.
The Rip Tide
Beirut
Pompeii
When Zach Condon, at only 19 years of age, burst forth on the indie music scene in 2006 as frontman for Beirut, many were won over by his romantic vision of Eastern European folk tinged with indie rock and electronica accents. Beirut’s third full-length studio album, The Rip Tide, sees the band continue to play with its Balkan affectations, while discovering a new depth to its music.
A Candle’s Fire opens the record with a droney accordion melody, quickly followed by rolling snares and melancholic trumpets. Condon, atop the lively ukulele strumming that has become his trademark, then sings in a dreamy voice about a flawed relationship of uncertain character: “If I had known not to carry on that way/It wouldn’t show in the creases of your face.”
In short, it is standard Beirut. But as the album continues it becomes apparent that there is something different about this release. Whether due to a growing maturity or simply a desire to pare things down and focus on the craft of songwriting, the arrangements here show a tasteful restraint that offers new shades of complexity.
On album closer Port of Call, for instance, the raucous explosion you expect to come never does — and the song is better for it. Deceptively simple melodic twists add intrigue as Condon sings about the ache of what could have been, a powerful lyrical theme reinforced by ascending horns that never seem to reach the note they are aiming for: “You had hope for me now/I danced all around it somehow.”
The Rip Tide may be Beirut’s most accomplished release yet. And as the band is due to play Taiwan in January, you might want to jump on the opportunity to hear them live.
Father, Son, Holy Ghost
Girls
True Panther Sounds
Christopher Owens, frontman for Girls, began life in the Children of God cult and was subjected to a string of horrors. He eventually escaped and started exorcising his many demons via song. Father, Son, Holy Ghost is the second record Girls has released, and it more than meets the lofty expectations created by the band’s much-heralded debut two years ago.
It seems par for the course these days, but the way in which the Girls juggle classic rock references without even attempting to disguise them is nonetheless worth noting. From opener Honey Bunny’s surf rock ripples to Die’s nod to the raunchiest offerings of the 1960s, you won’t hear a single song on the record that sounds original.
But taken together, they amount to one of the more unique records you’ll hear this year.
How then, does the band get away with it? It would seem that Owen’s unabashed honesty, which is apparent in every brutally candid interview he gives, also permeates every nook and cranny of his music. Anyone who so openly confesses his sins cannot be labeled a simple thief.
Album gem Just a Song rests atop a bed of gently finger-picked nylon guitar, accompanied by a simple back beat, electric guitar and unassuming strings. At the song’s end, rattling snares and blossoming flutes enter as Owens delivers the hook: “Love, love, love/It’s just a song.” And that sums up the man’s attitude toward his music and life.
Father, Son, Holy Ghost is top-to-bottom rock solid, and will be liked by anyone with a taste for classic rock ’n’ roll.
Wild Flag
Wild Flag
Merge
When I first learned of the Wild Flag project, which features ex-members of indie rock legends Helium and Sleater-Kinney, I have to admit I was excited. The concept of “super-groups” — even in the indie rock vein — is one that never fails to arouse interest. On its eponymous debut, however, Wild Flag proves itself to be more than just an intriguing project. This is an actual band.
Janet Weiss’ pounding drums open the album on Romance, and almost immediately any doubts I had about this record turning out well were beaten into submission. As Carrie Brownstein issues her call-to-arms (“Hey, hey, can you feel it? … The thump in your chest?”), rollicking, quirky guitar licks, accented by Rebecca Cole’s smart keyboard work, needle their way in and out of a wall of thoroughly pleasing sound.
It is a joy to hear Mary Timony (formerly of Helium) and Brownstein (formerly of Sleater-Kinney) both carve out a comfortable space for themselves in these songs. The contrast between Timony’s intimate, half-spoken/half-sung vocal style and Brownsteins’ more demanding, impassioned cries, for instance, lends a balance to the record that lets you appreciate their disparate styles all the more.
Glass Keyboard sees the band venturing into psychedelic 1960s territory, which seems a good home for Timony’s otherworldly musings. The song begins with a huge, acid-rock riff that would make Iron Butterfly proud, and is replete with a delightfully warbly keyboard break midway through.
That the band was able to make Wild Flag worthy of its members’ past efforts is an accomplishment in and of itself. The record should not be thought of as a nostalgic glance at the past — this is clearly a step forward.
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