Chris Smither – Train Home

Chris Smither has been doing what he does for years now, and what he does is pretty simple. Armed with an acoustic guitar and a well-worn boot heel, Smither spins out haunting, surprisingly melodic blues. Like the late John Lee Hooker, Smither metronomically taps out the rhythm with his foot (Smither makes sure each performance space doesn’t have a rug or carpeted floor) while working his gruff voice through the highs, lows, and in-betweens of songs of hard living and redemption.
He’s been at this for more than 35 years now. Smither’s first album, I’m a Stranger, Too, came out in 1970, but he’d been performing for years prior to that. Part of the general quality of his output probably has something to do with its infrequency: in 33 years Smither has put out only 11 albums.
His latest, Train Home, finds a spiritual, meditative Smither contemplating a place in the world. He sings on the title track, “The why we’ll never know, we passed that long ago / Is and was is all we’re ever gonna be.” The lyrics are, indeed, not exactly typical blues fare. Smither, a lot like Jimmie Dale Gilmour, is sort of a country mystic, though never a heavy-handed one. “Let it Go” is a blow-by-blow account of realizing the author’s car has been stolen, which he tries to take in Zen-like stride, as he conversationally speak-sings, “I know attachment is the root of my suffering, cuz it hurts me, it hurts me deep inside.” This album is like that, switching back and forth between the quotidian and the otherworldly, from the down-to-earth “Lola,” an archetypal heartbreak song, to a beautiful (though truncated) cover of Bob Dylan’s “Desolation Row,” to the splendid raunchiness of Mississppi John Hurt’s “Candy Man.”
It’s important to mention that Smither is a master guitar player. He picks out complicated figures seemingly with ease and minimal accompaniment (besides the aforementioned foot, most of the songs the album features an additional guitar, some unobtrusive percussion, and a harmony vocalist). Smither’s voice can truly carry a song, beneath its gruff exterior revealing depths of hurt, tenderness, playfulness, and, sometimes, a gruff interior. What’s most striking to the careful listener is how intricately crafted Smither’s songs are. The best example of this, and the album’s tour de force, is Smither’s take on Dave Carter’s “Crocodile Man.” Smither growls the lyrics and picks out a typically intricate, up-tempo melody, but even through the rapid-fire of the vocals, the character’s complicated personal history is revealed.
Smither combines lyricism, Delta blues guitar picking, and inspired songwriting to craft a unique, timeless sound.

Mono – One More Step and You Die

It’s impossible to discuss Japanese art/punk/rock/instrumental band Mono without also bringing up comparisons to both Sigur Ros and Mogwai. From the massive guitar soundwalls of the former (sans cello bow), to the nontraditional snare hits eternally warping 4/4 time of the latter, the comparisons are inevitable… yet there’s just no denying that Mono is every bit as good and original as their forefathers. After all, it’s hard to go wrong these days when your formula for success is one part ethereal beauty, one part diseased mayhem, and two parts foreign passports.
I’m only kidding of course. Mono isn’t from Sweden or Denmark. The band just happens to be a relatively new name in the game of dynamic, new-age post-rock, and it’s difficult to crawl out from under the shadows of those aforementioned genre-definers. But while Mono may be a new name, the band’s skill, experience, and all-out musical talent shine through on their second full-length release One Step More and You Die.
It would be easy to bring up parallels between this music and the wonderful nation of Japan, as many seasoned reviewers love to do with Sigur Ros’ raw Icelandic landscape. I can see it now, gracing the pages of Rolling Stone -”Mono’s cataclysmic yet minimalist soundscapes evoke the solitary summit of Mt. Fuji…” But such a quote does not do justice to the music itself. With song titles (after translation) like “Sabbath” and “Halo,” Mono appears to be reaching far beyond any mountaintops. And they succeed.
They also manage to define their music in the first two songs, “Where Am I” and “Com(?)”. However, I think “Heaven” and “Hell” would be much more appropriate titles. The album opens with the soothing strains of plaintive cello, earnest yet respectful complementary guitar lines, which soon wander into a gentle sea of innocent bass and glockenspiel, and are finally warmed by the muted anguish of a solo violin. Each verse washes in and out like a rising tide edging nearer and nearer to the corner of your beach towel… only you’re sunbathing on a deeply overcast day. In a word, the song is beautiful. “Com(?)”, however, is more straightforward in its approach, using the deep, guttural textures of bass chords to drive a 15-minute opus that erupts at the halfway mark into a violent death throe that is as impressive as is it terrifying.
This album is completely devoid of both guitar hooks and vocals. However, Mono creates sonic events that the patient listener will find every bit as satisfying as the new Strokes’ single. The track “A Speeding Car” exemplifies this philosophy well. A lengthy and subdued intro is overtaken at the 2:30 mark by a delay-infected guitar maelstrom that builds and recedes like a passing storm, as if taunting the other instruments… and after nearly fading out, they finally respond with a bass-driven bombast that swells and swirls, feeding the storm which churns and howls into a gaping mass of intense… well, you get the idea. Also, the aforementioned “Halo” represents the band’s dynamic attack well, despite the Corgan-esque chord structure and guitar tone at the outset. (It’s just a little odd being reminded of Siamese Dream-era Billy Corgan with this type of music).
I had the good fortune to see Mono play live, and as is usually the case with this style of music, the dynamics on the album pale in comparison to the live product. As a veteran of both Mono experiences, I can tell you that they are every bit as intelligent and relevant as their better-known peers. Their musical journey is still very much on the buildup. And I can’t wait for the explosion.

The Dutch Flat – Ghosts

The Dutch Flat, an ever-rotating bunch of three to five guys, lives in Portland, Ore. To my knowledge, that’s not really a place known for music. Their former residence was Seattle, which as we all know as the home of all things rock. But don’t write The Dutch Flat off as just another rock band that thinks it’s the best thing to hit rock music since Nirvana. This music is powerful, artistic, and inventive, and it’s not the least bit pretentious.
The amazing thing about this album is that it uses only one guitarist. I said to myself after listening through this CD once: “Man.this album is so inventive and original that there must’ve been joint thought on this album. One person putting together all the guitar lines for this amazing album would just be insane! It’s just too powerful for one guy to do alone!” But Tim Graham has put together every guitar line single-handedly. The talent he alone possesses could fuel about five bands. But he is most definitely not the only reason I thought there were two guitars. The bass, supplied by founding member Matt Genz, is just as loud, just as important, and plays just as many riffs as the furious, thundering guitar does. But even that is not the reason that The Dutch Flat is so amazing. Co-founder Sam Schauer beats his drums like a maniac, executing complex riffs that mesh perfectly with both Genz and Graham, and fills in the spaces in the sound with brilliant fills and well-placed cymbals. And that is the real reason Dutch Flat is perfect musically. The three feed off each other so completely that to replace any of the them would destroy The Dutch Flat.
The best track here is the double-song, 14-minute rock odyssey “Ghosts/Button Thief.” The length is an homage to the talent apparent on Ghosts: it’s 14 minutes long, but it doesn’t have a boring second. It is also the best sample of true Dutch Flat sound I can give you. The bass and drums drive this song, with sections of it being strictly being drums and bass. You can hardly even tell where these sections are though, as the bass takes over the melody so efficiently it could be confused for a low guitar. The guitars, when they appear, are pulsing, rhythmic, and angular, adding more depth to the already full sound. The riffs that Graham pounds out here are volatile and unexpected. They start with a familiar chord, and before you can form an opinion in your mind of where it might go next, they’ve already moved on to a rhythm, note, or chord that you would never have put there. It’s a defining feature of their sound, and one that can take them places.
The vocals are there somewhat, used sparingly, as vocals are the only area that the Dutch Flat doesn’t have excess talent in. The lyrics are issued in a voice that is somewhere between a growl and a moan, and which is not very melodic or easy on the ears. In fact, the only positive use of their vocals is to emphasize the emotion portrayed by the rest of the song.
The Dutch Flat is one band that actually lives up to its talk. These musicians truly don’t confine to anything, as their interesting riffs, powerful bass, and dramatic ideas create something completely original. And that’s what really impressed me here: Every song offered here is completely inventive, yet still down-to-earth and listenable. Some rock bands are so far ahead of the time that it’s tough to enjoy them. Not Dutch Flat. Their rock is infused with artistic morals and enough talent to make Radiohead gnash its teeth in jealousy, but it’s still just good, good rock music. To those who hear this, it will become an instant classic.

Calico System – The Duplicated Memory

I admit it: I have a bad habit. I take one look at a band’s art and lyrics and instantly judge them. It’s not like I mean to. It just sort of happens. Thankfully, most times the music overturns my opinion of them, and I come off relieved that I didn’t actually say anything to anyone about my stupid opinion.
I’m sorry to say that Calico System lends itself to my habit easily. The band’s lyrics are preoccupied with blood, death, and lost love. These are generically tough topics to breathe life into. And, with the exception of a few lines here and there (mostly in “Suicide Common”), they don’t succeed in making much more than the average lyric. And their art, well…it’s made to look like blood spattered on all over everything. That means that Calico System used the most common metal cliché there is. There’s nothing else to think but “Hey, that’s gonna be a lame, poser-ish metal/metalcore band!”
I found out I was wrong (as always), but it actually took three or four listens to figure that out. The first time I listened to it, I wasn’t impressed. I found it cliché, boring, and ultimately too macho for its own good. I had even partially written a bad review of it. But it was so negative that I went back and listened to The Duplicated Memory again, cause I hate to write a bad review unless I’m deadly sure that a band is bad. On more careful examination of The Duplicated Memory, the positives heavily outweigh the negatives.
The most apparent, obvious things are what turned me off the first time. They just seem to use screams all too often. Their credibility is also knocked down a peg because of the seemingly repetitive chug of the guitars. The lyrics aren’t that great, and, altogether, the surface is pretty bland.
If you delve deeper, you’ll find a diversity in this that could easily be overlooked. Calico System uses a melodic, clean structure a lot more often than you realize at first. When Mark Owen sings over the blasting guitars, it’s easy to overlook how impressive the vocal delivery is. But when he sings over the quieter, less deadly musical landscapes, it’s pretty awesome, because he can actually sing really well! This is clearly demonstrated on both “Room with a View” and “Suicide Common.” In fact, once you realize how impressive the vocals are, you notice that the screaming (also supplied by Mark Owen, in an unexpected twist) really isn’t that bad either, or in that much quantity. It’s roughly equal to the amount of sung vocals.
The “seemingly repetitive chug” I spoke of earlier is just that. Seemingly. Each song is diverse in its own way, with the almost punkish vibe of “Resilience in Time” contrasting against modern rock of “It’s Fair to Say,” the straight-out metal vibe of “Blood of a Diary,” and the metalcore/alternative metal of “Soft Lips and Headstones.” In fact, they even include a song that is nearly emo: the short, yet powerful, “Two Lovers and a Tower,” which may be the only song ever to include birds chirping as part of the effect.
It took a while to stick, but in the end, this CD blew me away. This is not for the casual listener, as you’ll find yourself unimpressed. But if you’re a fan of metalcore/melodic hardcore/whatever the name is now for lighter metal, you will find this to be a jewel in your collection. You’ll definitely find yourself treasuring this like the rare thing it is: one excessively loud, engrossingly interesting, and completely awesome album. Now..if we could only adjust the artwork some…

The Von Trapps – This is the Van Trapps EP

The four songs included on this mini-EP are all delightful, using shiny guitars and crystalline vocals and harmonies, backed by the occasional piano, a perky though steady rhythm section, and some thoroughly crafty production. As the whole thing comes in just under 15 minutes, it can really only be considered something of an appetizer, but then again it does its job, leaving the listener primed to hear something more from The Von Trapps. But seeing as how this is to be the band’s only release, maybe it’s really more of a tease.
Listening to This is the Von Trapps is a pleasant walk in the park, all very sunny and colorful, with melodies blooming amidst the instrumentation easily and without strain. The female voice at the forefront is mature, sexy, and effortless, and the perfect topping to the 60s Brit-pop opener as well as the other three numbers with slower tempos and a more wistful, if not melancholy atmosphere.
Still, something so smooth wants something to eventually come unhinged a bit in order to keep things interesting. Everything in moderation, right? Because for a sound that shows signs of being capable of achieving something along the lines of Yo La Tengo’s more engaging work, this band lingers a little too close to the Beth Orton side of things. Not that that’s all so bad, really, it’s just limiting in the sense that the group might be a little too sensitive for it’s own good. Though the EP sparkles with its softly grinning pop, would an album of material all so similar to these four songs really get played through to the end? I doubt it.
But then again . . . I guess we’ll never know.

The Lovethugs – Playground Instructors

The Lovethugs are yet another Rainbow Quartz offering, and like their label-mates the Jessica Fletchers and the Three4Tens, they offer the sounds of old-school rock, everything from Liverpool to lysergic. This band’s particular influence seems to be the Doors (in their less heavy-handed moments), represented here by heavy drums and wandering, ostinato guitar riffs.
The Lovethugs, who hail from Norway, share a fondness for metal with their fellow Scandinavians the Cardigans. Jim Faulty, the singer and primary guitarist, has adopted a little bit of Jim Morrison’s affected vocal style, though in Faulty’s case the vocals (as well as the guitar playing) often sound flat, plodding, and off-key. Backing him, the Lovethugs sound basically like a capable garage band, and little more. There is little here of the spirit and energy that livened up the recent releases by the Jessica Fletchers and Three4Tens (both reviewed here recently). The band plods along through predictable, elementary melodies broken up by the occasional screeching guitar solo.
What’s more, they have unwisely decided to include the lyrics in the album’s liner notes, allowing you to pick out minor miracles of tortured syntax like, “Well, I’m happy now to tell you that I’m never feeling afraid … / And still I want to understand and still I wanted to try.” To be fair, the band is from Oslo, and sparkling English is usually too much to ask of even native-speaking pop singers, but most of the lyrics on Playground dissolve into incomprehensibility. This can charming, in a Lost in Translation sort of way, if you’re the Pizzicato Five, but I think I’d enjoy the Lovethugs much more if they sang in Norwegian. That would by much cooler, wouldn’t it?
As it is, everything about this record-from the bewildering, faux-psychedelic cover art to the lazy rhythms to the impenetrable lyrics-just leaves me a little confused.

Sun Kil Moon – Ghosts of the Great Highway

Since leaving the once benevolent bosom of 4AD after the Red House Painters’ fourth long-player, Ocean Beach, way back in 1995, life hasn’t been made easy for followers of Mark Kozelek’s single-minded muse. Through a combination of record label misanthropy and willful contrariness, Kozelek has kept his ever-loyal admirers straining at the leash.
Flipping between labels (Island/Supreme, Badman, and Sub Pop) has led to his releases being scattered in retail outlets with near-careless abandon (particularly on European shores). Recording as both Red House Painters (for 1996’s Songs for a Blue Guitar and 2001’s Old Ramon) and as a solo artist (with 2000’s Rock ‘n Roll Singer mini-album being the most notable) has certainly foxed many already confused by Kozelek’s musical persona shifting. Couple such confusion with a heavy reliance on other people’s songs (with 2001’s solo LP What’s Next to the Moon, being almost entirely made-up of stripped-down AC/DC covers), and some moonlighting as an actor in Cameron Crowe’s 70s rock nostalgia flick Almost Famous, and it has become increasingly impossible to keep a clear trace on Kozelek’s remarkable – but erratic – talents. Even Kozelek loyalists have been wondering if it’s too much to ask for just proper one album, one band, and one new set of self-penned songs from one of the most (self) undervalued singer/songwriters of the last 15 years.
So when news broke that Kozelek was set to launch a new band – Sun Kil Moon – featuring erstwhile members of Red House Painters and American Music Club on yet another label (New York’s Jetset Records), there must have been more than a few sighs of disillusionment and despair from RHP fans old and new. However, those sighs are likely to turn into hard-won smiles as Sun Kil Moon’s surprisingly wonderful debut finally brings Kozelek songcraft back on to a steady course.
Building on the towering melodicism of his latter-day Red House Painters wares, whilst bringing forth the more concise song structures of his better solo work, has allowed Kozelek to subtly realign his musical beddings without having to sacrifice any of his songwriting prowess or undersell his painfully captivating voice. Gone too are the cover songs, along with some of the atypical 4AD family production values (the vocals are now lower in the mix and the instrumental layers are far more loose and rustic). The net result is a crisp, sometimes crunchy, and often lush collection of songs that show Kozelek at his best since the aforementioned (and much-overlooked) RHP opus, Songs for a Blue Guitar.
The gently unfolding “Glen Tipton” (bizarrely named after a member of Brit metallers Judas Priest) is a near-solo acoustic starter that touches on Kozelek’s perennial nostalgia for the teenager years he lost to drug addiction, before it slips into a chilling murder ballad-like narrative; “I buried my first victim when I was nineteen / Went through her bedroom and the pockets of her jeans / And found her letters that said so many things that really hurt me bad / I never breathed her name again / But I like to dream about what might have been.” The impossibly pretty “Carry Me Ohio” which follows is classic Kozelek – gut-wrenchingly sad, curiously comforting, and impossibly graceful. A mellow mid-tempo number with chiming REM-like accompaniment (circa Automatic for the People that is), the song feels like a heartbreaker’s guilt-ridden confessional as he drives off down a rain-drenched road to face an uncertain fate; “Sorry that I could never love you back / I could never care enough in these last days.”
Things then lurch from delicacy to discord and then back to delicacy again; as “Carry Me Ohio” bleeds into the soaring Screaming Trees-flavoured chug of “Salvador Sanchez” before the listener is transported into a three-song suite of serene acoustic loveliness. The triumvirate of “Last Tide,” “Floating,” and “Gentle Moon” glides through the ether with heart-tugging strings, a gentle assortment of percussion, dextrous finger-picking, and some of Kozelek’s most adventurous and affecting vocals yet. This lilting three-song thread then leaps into the record’s most raucous rocker, “Lily and Parrots,” that cranks-out a Crazy Horse-meets-Queens of the Stone Age cacophony with almost jubilant aplomb. Any stalwart RHP fanatic concerned that Kozelek has given up on his doom-laden epics, should rest easy enough with the 14 or so minutes that it takes to unfurl the darkly enigmatic “Duk Koo Kim” (previously heard as two solo versions on a rare 10″ on Cameron Crowe’s Vinyl Records), though what die-hards will make of the busy and indeed joyful Latino instrumental “Si. Paloma” which follows it remains to be seen. Proceedings close perversely with an acoustic reworking of “Salvador Sanchez” (re-christened as “Pancho Villa”), clearly a song Kozelek loves so much he had to do it twice, and who are we to begrudge him of such repetition when the results are just so damn lovely?
Ghosts of the Great Highway may not be quite the great lost Red House Painters album many have been waiting for, but neither is it burdened with any need to fit a set idea of what Mark Kozelek-led album should sound like. Instead, it is a record that channels Kozelek’s angelic-voice and songwriting genius through an eclectic array of diligently arranged but instinctively played set of songs that touch deeper and deeper with every addiction-inciting spin. Long may his ghosts haunt our highways, whatever band name he chooses as a self-deprecating decoy.

K.C. Accidental – Captured Anthems for an Empty Bathtub

The main critique of instrumental rock albums that I can discern is the fundamental disconnect that exists between performer and listener. While these albums often enjoy a positive critical support base (Explosions in the Sky, Mogwai, Godspeed), their appeal to the masses falls short of the international allure of electronica, which manages to scoop up the turtle neck, horn-rimmed glasses-wearing, designer drug-using aesthetes in droves. Instru-rock, however, is and always will be more organic and soulful than the often frosty, detached electronica – due in part to the ear’s ability to discern actual instruments (as opposed to syncopated, pre-programmed beats), and the performer’s habit of leaving in ambient, unrehearsed sounds (band chatter, instruments being dropped or fumbled with, etc.). But there is still the matter of that disconnect – the lack of lyrical identification that leaves the listener’s focus directly trained on chord changes, drum-speak, and the loud/soft confluence. The performer is asking the listener to find meaning, not in the poetical combination of lyrics and instrumentation, but in the instrumentation alone, and this leads to a removal of the listener from the performer’s experience, leaving them to cup their hands around their eyes as they peer in through the fogged window of the record.
K.C. Accidental both suffers and profits from this abstraction. Long-time collaborators Kevin Drew (Broken Social Scene) and Charles Spearin (Do Make Say Think) offer a prequel to their previous release, Anthems for the Could’ve Bin Pills, with 1997-recorded labor-of-love Captured Anthems for an Empty Bathtub. Opener “Nancy and the Girdle Boy” explodes with percussive kinetics and churning guitars, signaling to the listener that K.C. Accidental won’t be wooing you with any lovey-dovey ambient malarkey (at least not yet), but rather have an entirely different approach to instru-rock, similar to that of Austin, Texas’ Explosions in the Sky. An exciting and entirely unpredictable bit of instrumentation, “Nancy” builds and builds to an almost cacophonous din, but never stumbles with the exhilarating beat.
“Something for Chicago” is a considerable step-down in tempo following “Nancy.” Soft, cuddly, Air-like ambient jazz, “Chicago” may be interpreted as K.C.’s answer to Windy City noise-rockers Tortoise, but is more than likely merely a calming sedative after “Nancy”’s Hey! Ho! Let’s go!-style kick-off. The percussive “Anorexic He-Man” is a good, shoulder-twitching work out, but all in all lacks the diversity Drew and Spearin have both exhibited in their respective side-projects. Halted and broken vocal snippets are woven into and in between drumbeats that sound more like they’re being produced from the side of the drum rather than the top.
“Save the Last Breath” is an atmospheric lullaby, composed of high-end pianos, guitars, brushed drums, and a mid-song stabbing crescendo that rouses the listener from slumberous bemusement. The sudden horns caught me off-guard but were a welcomed change up, and really elevated the nine-minute track from nice-but-unoriginal to better-than-nice. “Kev’s Message for Charlie” is an interesting example of how Drew and Spearin had to sometimes work together over answering machines due to conflicting schedules. The machine-filtered organs are an interesting addition and work surprisingly well. Closing 12-minute opus “Tired Hands” offers up more church organs combined with a staccato beat and whisper-thin synths – the perfect soundtrack for coming down off a night of coke bumps and whiskey tumblers.
“This album is two people pressing the record button,” K.C. Accidental attest in supplemental info, adding, “It’s very big. It’s loud and soft. It’s an ode to everything that has visited their ears.” And despite the instrumental rock genre’s inherent disconnect, K.C. Accidental manage to breath warmth and invitation into it by building an album on one very simple theme – teamwork breeds beauty.

Astropop 3 – Anything / Never Seen the Sun CD Single

Sometimes certain types of music are just perfect for certain days. Take today, for example: where I am (Valdosta, GA), it’s sunny, with a cloudless brilliant blue sky. There’s a slight breeze, and the temperature is about 74 degrees (give or take). It’s one of those days you just want to sit outside and read, or maybe just drive around with your windows down. Nothing too strenuous, anyway, and some relaxing and fun music would be nearly essential. Astropop3’s new single is the perfect soundtrack for such activities. Astropop3 hails from Virginia Beach, VA, an unlikely home for the kind of light, poppy music they play. One would imagine music like this being suited to some coastal town in California. But enough with the abstract; let’s get to the music.

This all-too-brief EP starts off with “Anything,” one of the nicest indie pop gems you’re likely to hear this year. The song rides on gentle acoustic guitars supplemented by some nice electric work that simply serves to add layers to the song. It’s a slightly melancholy tune, but nonetheless pretty. Also notable are the vocals of Dan Villanueva, which provide a nice, understated (if slightly nasal) counterpoint to the music, carrying the feel of the song perfectly.

“Never Seen the Sun” stretches Astropo3’s rock wings a bit more, but surprisingly, the effect is never too much, keeping the song in much the same vein as the first while simply upping the tempo and distortion on the guitars. The overall effect and approach is very similar to that The Wedding Present took on for albums like Saturnalia.

The single is bolstered by two hidden live tracks that show tremendous promise. “Forget Tomorrow” is the first of these, also showcasing the same electric feel found on “Never Seen the Sun” and using another nearly perfect melody. Curiously enough, Villanueva’s voice seems to have a bit of Britpop affectation on the live tracks. It’s not bad at all; in fact, he sounds uncannily Morrissey (albeit like a slightly more nasal version). The second track (which is not introduced), is slightly more jammy in nature. We’re not talking Phish-type wank-rock, but it’s nice to know the band is confident enough in their abilities and tight enough to be able to improvise a bit. The only shame is that no one claps at the end of the live tracks (which someone, presumably Villanueva, notes wryly with a slightly sarcastic “Hey, thanks for clapping.”). The track is not essential, merely a nice coda to an excellent EP.

All in all, this is a nice introduction to a little-heard band. According to their website, their back catalog is extensive, with a discography reaching all the way back to 1996. If it’s anything as good as these four songs, I’m in for a real treat.

Tiara – The Summer of the Lion, the Summer of the Lamb

Tiara’s The Summer of the Lion, the Summer of the Lamb is much more a docile creature than a ferocious and aggressive lion. Here is an album that has been doused with melody, and as a result it often showcases dripping lush arrangements.
It begins with the prophetic “Something Good to Come.” The vocals and melody convey that fragile sense of a tortured singer, and the delivery is eerily similar to Elliott Smith. “The Mirror of Heavens” continues with a singer/songwriter theme and is like a throwaway track off of a Badly Drawn Boy album.
In its entirety, The Summer of the Lion, the Summer of the Lamb is a melodic rock record with a slant toward British music, not at all unlike Guided By Voices. The melodies are bright and fresh. However, what is interesting about this album is its schizophrenia. There are straight-up pop/rock songs but also more often there are atmospheric, lush space-rock songs. The group seems divided on which way to proceed. The keyboard driven “Drawings” is the most overtly poppy song and a clear winner on the disc. Conversely, “Outside” is a sprawling and ethereal rock song. “What We’ve Become (Again)” can be seen as sort of a compromise between the two; it is a standard bouncing indie-rock tune, but it features a lofty chorus.
With two full-length albums under its belt, Tiara is a little bit too weathered to be having an identity crisis. The group is competent at both the pop direction and space-rock approach; the trick is now to stick with one and go with it, or at least find an effective way to marry the two styles. Right now, unfortunately The Summer of the Lion, the Summer of the Lamb is a mixed effort, due in part to the ambivalence in songwriting. If the musicians concentrate their efforts, the group just might find the right mix.

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