The trouble with talking about a discrete movement in pop music is that there’s only so much one can say; and more often than not, what one can say is probably a woeful generalization. Take, for example, Andy Cabic of Vetiver. Willfully nebulous though it may be, there’s probably no current movement more discrete than the quote-unquote “freak folk” Cabic and his more famous friend, Devendra Banhart, have been slowly and steadily bringing to the indie limelight since 2002 or so. It can be traced to just two record labels (first Michael Gira’s Young God Records, and now Cabic’s and Banhart’s own Gnomonsong imprint) and a small handful of musical influences: British folk, pre-glam Marc Bolan, the Incredible String Band. But while it would be easy enough to begin this review simply by rattling off Cabic’s various indie folk credentials, or perhaps engaging in a side-by-side beard comparison with Devendra, that wouldn’t give much of an idea about To Find Me Gone as an album, now would it?

So instead, I’ll just say that To Find Me Gone – the second full-length by Vetiver, and the first since they became almost a household (or at least dorm room) name – is both exactly what you might expect from the movement of its origin, and a hell of a lot different. The acoustic, spidery instrumentation and Eastern textures of latter-day freak-folk albums like Cripple Crow and Feathers are all present and accounted for; in this case as early as opening track “Been So Long,” which blooms from a simple pattern of tamboura drone, ethereal backing vocals and deliberate hand percussion like a time-lapsed flower. What’s missing – or more neutrally, the area where Cabic makes his departure from form most felt – is the sprawling, communal feel of those aforementioned records and others. Freak-folk, in general, tends to put equal emphasis on both sides of the hyphen, breeding music which sounds casual, recreational, almost incidental in its creation. Tin Pan Alley, it ain’t. But with his latest Vetiver release, Cabic is branching out into a new kind of songwriting, one which sounds at least as much at home in the studio as on the festival stage. In short, he’s turning into a bit of a – gulp – professional.

Which, by the way, is not in the least meant as a slight. If Banhart will always have the edge on his frequent musical partner in terms of pure wild-eyed oddness, then Cabic is the McCartney to his Lennon in the best possible way: he inhabits the same musical space, sharing influences and backgrounds as well as the occasional chord-change trick, but his quirks are less thorny, more tempered, and ultimately, a lot more accessible. There’s no Bolanesque mewling to be found on this disc (except that which is contributed by Devendra himself, on closing duet “Down at El Rio”); instead, Cabic’s voice is as pleasing and smooth as Egyptian cotton, coming off like a blissed-out Elliott Smith on the hushed Americana prowl “You May Be Blue” and like a more mannered Ryan Adams on the gently cascading “I Know No Pardon.” He even finds the time to contribute what could arguably be freak-folk’s most potentially marketable single yet: a warm, playful, and just the slightest bit askew love song called “Idle Ties.” And with its wispy vocals and lightly plucked banjo, “Red Light Girls” sounds a lot closer to that friendlier, prettier face of indie folk, Sufjan Stevens, than anything Gnomonsong has released yet…that is, until about the four-and-a-half minute mark, when the song explodes into a squall of fuzzed-out Lou Reed guitar noodling and double-time drums.

Indeed, it’s at that precise moment when one realizes just how bizarre this album could have been; and maybe, just maybe, regrets that Cabic doesn’t seem to share as much of Banhart’s recklessly adventurous spirit as their constant associations suggest. As beautiful as To Find Me Gone can be – and, more often than not, it’s transcendantly so – it can still look a little bland when stacked up against the strengths of its genre. After all, maybe there’s more measurable musical songcraft in Vetiver’s country rocking “Won’t Be Me” than in Cripple Crow‘s Portuguese language oddity “Pensando Enti,” but while the latter sparkles with otherworldly, eccentric beauty, the former’s charms are as obvious and down-to-earth as its origins: namely American roots music, as filtered through the sun-kissed lens of California. Still, that’s movement-based criticism for you; and if To Find Me Gone strikes you as both too polished to pass for freak-folk and not twangy enough to file under alt-country, then there’s always the option of enjoying the record purely on its own merits. They exist, and they’re radiant.

Reviewed by Zach Hoskins

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3. The Black Dove – Christian Kiefer and Sharron Kraus

The Lovely Feathers’ Hind Hind Legs is the musical equivalent of an adorable child with ADD: the music is usually fun and bouncier than one of those awesome tiny trampolines everyone loved in elementary school gym classes, but the vocals and lyrics are an entirely different story. These lyrics are so jabberwocky annoying that an older listener will tire of this album within the first five songs. If The Lovely Feathers were a child you were babysitting, it would be the child who you would wish was actually the Anti-Christ, just so you could get away with chasing it around the house with a broom instead of listening to all of the bullshit that it’s constantly spewing out.

Granted, there are moments that are a faint reprieve, such as the Pixies-influenced “Wrong Choice” and the post-punk fervor (though it too can become vaguely annoying) of “Breakfast Cake”; even when the band is at its most wacky and childlike, like on opening track “Pope John Paul” and the humorous “Rod Stewart,” they can still be enjoyable. But the largest problem here is that The Lovely Feathers seems to have no clue as to what kind of band they want to be. They want to be Black Francis. They want to be David Byrne. They want to be the Unicorns. They might even want to be Man Man. Hell, they even want to be Gang of Four’s aggravating little brothers. And this drive to explore such a varied array of sound can drive away even listeners who love those bands.

No one wants to hear a bunch of young dudes being an idiot David Byrne. Byrne may have shouted out non-sequiturs, but the reason why Talking Heads endure to this day is because, while we might not entirely know what he meant, Byrne always knew what was happening. The Lovely Feathers, on the other hand, seem to be carried away in the flow of disintegrated language. I’m sure that somewhere out there, some other self-righteous writer is writing about The Lovely Feathers being all that is great and wonderful about postmodernism and its effect on music. And blah blah blah, they’ve descended the cycle of language, blah blah blah – but who cares? If you want someone who cares about language, why don’t you go raise Roland Barthes from the grave and make him listen to this record. To me, The Lovely Feathers don’t even sound like they understand what the fuck they’re talking about.

The most frustrating thing of all, though – and the inspiration for all of this venom – is this album could have been good, even great. There’s a vast potential lurking within the structure of the sounds, a sense of humor that occasionally surfaces, and a currently en-vogue childishness, all of which could be great assets. But when they’re lazily squandered on an album such as this, it’s utterly enraging. I believe The Lovely Feathers have what it takes. I mean, go back and look at the influences I listed. They have elements of some fantastic and innovative bands, and it’s obvious that they have the energy to take those elements and make a synthesis of them. So I won’t give up on you, The Lovely Feathers, because I know there’s hope for you yet; but next time, try a different recipe for a rock album.

Reviewed by Megan Giddings

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Every once in a while, a record appears which is not of this world. This is not to say that it was delivered by aliens (unless we’re going to talk about Elvis a little) or anything silly like that. It’s more to the flavor of smaller outsiders who live in trees, subsist only on berries and the dew from leaves, and whose whole existence seems to be wrapped up in music and the enjoyment of it. If I had less pride, I would probably have simply said, “This is music for elves.” Which is a ridiculous statement, but it’s the truth.

Feathers (despite sharing some prominent members with doom-metal band Witch) create a strange, untrustworthy world where the music can often be lilting and oddly lovely (“Old Black Hat with a Dandelion Flower”, “Silverleaves in the Air of Starseedlings”), but filled with the melodic sounds of capricious trickery (“Van Rat”), as well as touching tentatively towards the medieval past with tracks such as “To Each His Own.” While detractors will complain that, with its weird lyrics and sometimes off-putting vocals, this album is fully immersed in the Modern Day Devendra Banhart School of Folk Music, they should be reminded of how few and far between albums such as Feathers really are. Banhart may have made whimsical folk music fashionable again, but this album has much more in common with the recent Tompkins Square release The Black Dove in terms of instrumentation than with Tyrannosaurus Rex’s A Beard of Stars.

In fact, the only problem with this release is how immersed it is in the folk genre. For those who love folk and whimsy, this album will be akin to a gift from on high with its sweet cream guitars, plucking moonberry bells, and glossy green leaf voices. But for those rooted firmly in the present, with its electronic noises, frank sexuality, and rock & roll posturing, Feathers will be like a bucket of cold water poured over the head. It may melt the unwilling as if they were a wicked witch of the west, or like a baptism, Feathers will encourage the uninitiated into a holy ocean of starlit whimsy.

Reviewed by Megan Giddings

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2. Vetiver – To Find Me Gone
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