Aural Fixations

THE DECEMBERISTS
Picaresque
(Kill Rock Stars)
When you think of storytellers in popular music, you usually think of a stoic singer/songwriter wielding an acoustic guitar in a smokeless club, playing contemporary folk music. Fortunately, Portland's Decemberists are here to rescue the narrative tradition from such dry presentation. Songwriter Colin Meloy creates a variety of colorful characters on the band's third album Picaresque, and his band of merry minstrels brings them to panoramic life. "The Bagman's Gambit" tells a tale of a spy and the man who loved her, with an arrangement painted in somber grays with occasional flashes of blues and red (especially red). "On the Bus Mall" studies a pair of male prostitutes with sparkling jangle pop that would make the Smiths proud, while the opener "The Infanta" describes the procession of an infant princess over a dirge-like acoustic march. The ghost story "Eli, the Barrow Boy" strips down to guitar and voice, indicating an awareness of the folk tradition. The spectacular apex is the epic tale of "The Mariner's Revenge Song," which puts the breathless anger of a quest for vengeance to surging, ultra-catchy folk rock, and never flags in energy or interest in nearly nine minutes. You may find yourself singing along with lines like "There is one thing I might say to you/As you sail across the sea/Always your mother will watch over you/As you avenge this wicked deed."

The Decemberists aren't solely concerned with historical fiction, allowing a few modern concerns onto the stage. "The Sporting Life" laments the failure of a would-be high school athlete with an upbeat guitar pop bounce, while "16 Military Wives" makes a point about political posturing with melodic, horn-spiked rock hooks. "The Engine Driver" puts its baldly emotional chorus—"If you don't love me/Let me go"—to a gorgeous, minor-key folk/pop melody; the equally lovelorn sonnets "From My Own True Love (Lost at Sea)" and "Of Angles and Angles" strip down to only acoustic guitar and voice. Meloy's androgynous singing—so reminiscent of Placebo singer Brian Molko's mellifluous croon—gives the characters full-blooded life, never overplaying the hand nor overdoing the unreliable narrator's detachment. The band paints the backgrounds perfectly in hues of acoustic guitars, accordion, rhythm and tastefully added electric instruments. Theatrical without playing to the cheap seats, the Decemberists' lit-rock is one of the freshest sounds I've heard in years, and Picaresque is fucking brilliant. Michael Toland [buy it]