ComfortComes

Doves – Kingdom Of Rust

Brit-pop lullaby rockers Doves offer their latest – a critically favored piece that revels in minimal composition and big production.

These guys are no strangers to the indie rock scene; The band has released four LPs since their full length debut in 2000. In 9 years they have been subjects of near universal critical praise, and this, their latest, continues that tradition. Even still, it does not quite sound like the self assured collection of songs one might expect from a band with a decade of widely publicized experience under their belts.

The voice of Jimi Goodwin sometimes mirrors the tonal quality of fellow Britpop frontman Chris Martin – a comparison, to be sure, that has haunted him since the band’s initial exposure – though Goodwin lacks his contemporary artfully restrained, and notably mature, delivery style. Seeming to lack confidence in his own poetry, he often over-emotes. “Winter Hill”, though immediately engaging, never resonates on an emotional level because of the dramatized intonations clouding every line. Elsewhere, we have moments of stifling “perfection.” The Rapture-esque, funky “Compulsion”, with mechanical basslines and unwavering vocals, glares with a clinical white sheen. This is less of an issue in “10:03″, in which the voice sounds raspy and wrecked – almost certainly the result of an extended recording session. Because of this, it feels far less contrived, and therefore more believable.

Opening track “Jetstream” notably blueprints the rest of Kingdom of Rust. The song is largely percussive – with little harmony to speak of – and grandiose production. While perhaps compositionally uncomplicated, it is inarguably grand and dramatic. This appears to be the trick up Doves’ sleeve; The swells of feedback and psychedelic flutters sweetening the record are just enough to give the listener incentive to stick around for its entire duration.

Though applying very little, Doves have pinned a simple way to pacify the average indie music fan.. Its all smooth sailing from here.

Grand Duchy – Petits Fours

Hubby/wife duo Black Francis and Violet Clark combine forces for Petits Fours – a playful exploration of the couple’s odd, but remarkably fitting musical dynamic. From Black, fans can expect a much welcome return to the primal absurdity of the Pixies. With the addition of Clark, we have decidedly more delicate new-wave elements weaved into the mix. All of this could easily sound contrived, but the interplay between the two reveals that these binary aspects are not mutually exclusive – instead, each artist seems to be bringing out parts in the other that, in all likelihood, would not have been evident in their solo material. In other words, this is a collaboration of ideas in the truest sense of the word – It is a sonic space in which the ugly and the pretty, the synthetic and the natural, the polished and the primal, are not disparate parts but two halves of the same whole.

The band’s symbiosis takes fruition in the lovely “Seeing Stars,” whose denouement reaches a level of ethereality that Black has alluded to for years (mostly prominently in the unheralded gem “The Happening” and the psuedo-transcendental “No. 13 Baby”.) These were wonderful moments, but with Clark’s touch, we suddenly realize that something was missing all along: Her keenness in finding the emotional in the synthetic results in something sweeping and majestic – something that, until now, was just beyond Black’s reach. Likewise, the fact that this is Violet Clark’s proper debut only magnifies Black’s importance as a musical partner (It should be noted that Clark recorded and produced an album under the name Dunmore shortly before Grand Duchy, a record whose release is, as of now, unforeseeable.)

Without question, the key to Petits Fours’ success is the audible sense of intimacy between its performers, which is so palpable it at times even seems invasive on the part of the listener. One such moment is the playful back-and-forth somewhere in the middle of “Lovesick”, in which Black interjects with an eye-brow raising “What are you wearing?” to which Clark replies, with cutesy flirtation “I don’t know!” Its a simple exchange – and not much on paper – but in the moment, it feels unmistakably voyeuristic. Its one of a handful of moments that make it difficult to peel the headphones away.

The Thermals – Now We Can See

The Thermals’ 2006 apocalyptic epic The Body, The Blood, The Machine was a triumph of minimalism – rock music at its most primal and basic, with memorable tunes and a tightly framed underlying concept. Quite frankly, given the band’s previous material – it was unprecedented. I will not deny the infectiousness and energy of More Parts Per Million and Fuckin A, but neither seemed terribly focused or ambitious: They weren’t meant to be – they were just… fun. 2009’s Now We Can See is the calm after the storm, and a reminder that, before people started listening, The Thermals were just another lively pseudo-punk band.

Many critics will claim, both as praise and censure, that Now We Can See is the group at their most tame. Indeed, interviews in which bandleader Hutch Harris has dropped potentially terrifying album descriptors such as “less abrasive,” “universal,” and “classic,” suggest that reaching a larger audience is very much a part of his agenda. The fact that the band shopped around for a new label to release Now We Can See seems to indicate an awareness of their sudden marketability following the huge success of their previous album (for those out of the loop, Hutch and Co. decided to sign on with Kill Rock Stars after completing their contract with Sub Pop.)

Don’t let any of the press fool you – All things considered, NWCS sounds exactly like you would expect it to. Envision an entire album of songs that borrow heavily from The Body’s “Returning to the Fold”, for starters. Lyrically, there’s a lot of death, love, and fish. Remember “Back to the Sea” and the promise that the narrator will willfully de-evolve and disappear into the ocean? Well, this is it, and apparently there’s not much to do or write about down there.

Opener “When We Died” is good enough, featuring some delightfully gross lyrical imagery (“I took off my clothes/ I took off my skin/ started shedding my arms to start getting my fins…”), but it does not leave much room for further thematic exploration. Harris’ lyrics, glorious in their simplicity, were the obvious driving force of The Body, The Blood, The Machine – but in this record, the content of the first song dooms the rest: Our narrator says everything he needs to within the first 3 minutes.

So here we have a collection of songs that is – for the most part – more of the same. There is no huge departure, nor have the Thermals quite “settled down”, as some have theorized from the oddly serene cover art. What they have done is tweek the most “universal” elements of their music and shone a light on them that is so bright it is nearly blinding. And now we can see.HH