Beach House; Beach House; Carpark
Baltimore duo Alex Scally and Victoria Legrand have been friends since childhood and it shows. Their newly released self-titled debut as Beach House sounds like the work of a seasoned, road-hardened band. Displaying a strong use of texture and restraint, Beach House is one of the most impressive debuts of the year.
Beach House’s songs are comprised mostly of Scally’s echoing slide guitar drifting through Legrand’s slow, Sgt. Pepper’s-style organ work, with Legrand’s mournful voice and the distorted drum machine confined to the background. The resulting minor-key, densely textured pieces sound like funeral dirges played by indie kids exploring the grandeur of autumn in the Northeast for the first time.
In many ways, though, the album is unfriendly. It is icy and melancholy at times, with the vaguely sentimental “Childhood” its only outwardly warm moment. “Saltwater” kicks off the album with Legrand singing, “Love you all the time / Even though you’re not mine.” Like much of the album’s lyrical content, the line carries a neutral connotation when taken out of context. Accordingly, the music lends itself to an emotional grey area.
While “Apple Orchard,” the lead single, and “Auburn and Ivory” contain moments of noticeable tension, neither quite reach the tipping point. Only when Legrand lets her vocals go in “Master of None” does the band maximize its emotional impact.
Yet the album’s biggest weakness is the crawling pace: the songs never build up to anything awe-inspiring. There’s nothing wrong with an album that simply sounds gorgeous, of course, but it often feels like Beach House are on the verge of something great. At this point, however, they have simply made a stunningly beautiful record that promises much for the future.
—Justin Scott
Califone; Roots & Crowns; Thrill Jockey
Take a bunch of musically talented hermits who live in a dense forest, eating moss, berries and perhaps some of the more mind-altering herbs. Put them in a rotting cabin packed with esoteric musical instruments such as marimbas, rain sticks, organs, clarinets, bird calls. The result? Califone’s latest record. Entitled Roots And Crowns, it’s an evocative, atmospheric album designed for rainy days and careful listening.
The band actually hails from Chicago and is composed of rotating musicians from the surrounding areas and scenes. Tim Rutili, the founding member, is credited with twelve instruments. Despite all this the album always feels like a cohesive unit. It is beautifully sequenced, from the transition between the rollicking “Chinese Actor” and the quiet “Our Kitten Sees Ghosts,” to the final track, “If You Would,” a drifting, lamenting song that nearly collapses under its own weight.
This is not to say that these are not organized pieces. In fact, this album functions best in those songs (“Pink and Sour,” “The Orchids”) where there is a clear structure, a melody and a progression. Occasionally, these disparate noises and hums become soporific when they have no melody to catch on to. But even these ambient moments provide welcome down time between songs.
The band’s influences are often apparent in Roots And Crowns. Their guitar work and vocals in songs like “3 Legged Animals” bear resemblance to Americana-inspired Wilco, and the organic beats and textures of many of the more complex songs conjure up Animal Collective. But Califone are ultimately their own band, and Roots is even more dynamic and involved than any of their previous releases. It’ll be interesting to see what those hermits will brew up next.
—Shira Hecht
