I got some badass headphones the other day. Sennheiser HD280s—the big, over-the-head, “look at that music snob” kind. Go ahead, laugh at me in Pierce; at least I can hear the glockenspiel buried in the back of “Born to Run.” Try to pick that out on your earbuds. Yeah, that’s what I thought.
…And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead’s latest release, The Century of Self, was my first assignment since picking those bad boys up. I expected to be pummeled through a vast sonic spectrum; since their monumental Source Tags & Codes, the group has shown that they can be intense, quiet, introspective, and in-your-face—all within four minutes, and featuring bombastic production.
I was let down. Was there something wrong with my headphones? The quieter parts sounded fine, but there was no punch. It wasn’t like 2006’s So Divided, which left the punch somewhere in the Pacific. As promised, Century finds the band cutting loose once again, but they never strike a good balance between aggressive and overly ambitious. They were supposed to be returning to the grit of their early work, but instead they’ve just added some angular guitars to the snooze-worthy prog/orch-rock (with yelling!) that they’ve been churning out for a few years now.
That said, Century is significantly better than what they had been offering us since the career-defining Source Tags. The album is stitched together almost like a song cycle, but it isn’t half bad for it; the stronger motifs recur throughout, while the weaker parts drop off quickly (except on “Isis Unveiled,” where they keep coming back to a riff straight out of one of those terrible action video games you used to play).
The best parts tend to be the more mellow ones, which is surprising for a band with a lead singer who usually sounds out of place when he isn’t yelling. The back-to-back chillout of “Luna Park” and “Pictures of an Only Child” rivals just about any of the more placid moments on their previous albums. Conversely, the loping “Ascending” is one of the worst tracks they’ve ever put out, with terrible Spanish lyrics and that despicable, post-hardcore, “two guys singing at once” thing which doesn’t sound good even when one of the guys doesn’t sound like he’s from a washed-up ‘90s “alt-rock” band. Still, it’s a bit strange for a band now renowned for destroying their gear at nearly every show to make an album whose high points revel in their snuggle-ability. It’s cute, but I’ll pass on the slumber party.
Voice’s Choices: “Luna Park,” “Pictures of an Only Child,” “Far Pavilions”
