Besides getting started, the hardest thing about writing reviews is coming up with original ways of putting things. Not stealing ideas from other magazines is tough, and it becomes especially hard when the album you're reviewing is unquestionably great. This is exactly my dilemma with the new Decemberists album. It's super, but I have no idea what to say about it that you haven't already heard.
The Decemberists are a quaint little band from Portland. They are fronted by Colin Meloy, a dork with a knack for traveling back in time and writing songs about it. That's all about anyone knows about this band. Until this release, that's all there really was to know. On their first few albums, Colin and co. were content to live in 1890, writing tunes that would be appropriate for an Oliver Twist style musical. Gimmicky? Maybe, but the tunes were catchy, sir. Of course, bands change, and it was about time Colin realized that there's a fine line between "quirky and endearing" and "annoying and obnoxious." He did. Good for him!
This is why Picaresque feels like a welcome shift into the present. Turns out the Decemberists can write a standout pop song without tying a gimmick to it. On songs like "The Sporting Life" and "The Engine Driver," Colin drops the 1890 factor significantly, to talk about good old-fashioned feelings. These songs happen to be two of the most captivating musically, as well.
Although, the theatrical songs aren't actually bad. "Eli, the Barrow Boy," and "The Bagman's Gambit" are fine examples of why everyone was looking forward to this album in the first place. Colin's still writing stagy numbers, but he's interspersing them with rock songs to even things out. It works. Sneaky bastard.
Things aren't all gravy, of course. The first song on the album, "The Infanta" is a fine introductory song, with an urgent beat and rising tension, but it goes on for five minutes, approximately 3.5 minutes more than it needs to. All it does is delay the fantastic string part that drives "We Both Go Down Together."
Similarly, there are two ways of looking at the album's last track, "The Mariner's Revenge Song." It could be considered an exclamation mark after a great album, or a waste of time after the already epic "On the Bus Mall." The song's accordion-jig melody is laughable in comparison to the emotion already displayed. It's like the funny kid in your English class writing the saddest short story you've ever read, then including a paragraph at the end about bananas wearing bras. At least, it's almost like that.
Consider this a transformation album. The Decemberists have proven that their songs don't need to be about fictional characters to be memorable. The best songs on this album are about men on TV and cheap motels off the highway, not pirates and orphans. If they continue to write catchy songs with down to earth lyrics, and maybe even drop the stage thing completely, they'll be on the verge of becoming one of the most respected new bands in sweater-wearing indie rock land. Until then, this album's just fine, thank you.
