I'll put it to you straight: we are in musically bankrupt times. I realize that, by saying this, I'm instantly doomed to the title of
Music Hating Old Fogey, but there haven't been all that many albums to come out in the past year or so that I'd want to pass on to posterity. It seems we are in the valley between
listenable radio and exceptional indie, where new bands like
The Strokes seem to be far too concerned with their unfashionable fashion and old bands like
Built To Spill seem to be trying to break onto the radio, leaving a bit of their integrity behind. But you know this: all music sucks. There will always be someone who can find something to nitpick about. It's time to look for what's positive in
modern rock. It's time to redefine our notion of what makes good music. Therefore, I put this to you:
The Frames' 2001 release,
For The Birds, is possibly the most satisfying rock album I've heard since
The Soft Bulletin, one that, try as I might, I cannot find even a single moment on it that I thoroughly despise. This is good, honest rock music that makes the listener rich in times of deficit.
It's kind of funny that The Frames would be the band to make this album: their previous albums all, in some way or another, seem to be playing to someone, a sin to which the band fully admits in the liner notes.
For The Birds is something different, though. Released on the band's own label, the record is, with the exception of some tracks laid down with
Steve Albini, produced by friends of the band. There is an intimate, warm sound to the songs, like this record is the band's new home, and the listeners are merely guests. Luckily, The Frames are
hospitible homeowners, but you are here, listening to their music on their terms. This is pretty important.
So I keep calling this a rock record, but I should warn you: it starts out fairly unassuming. A simple bit of guitar picking opens up the first track,
In The Deep Shade, an instrumental dominated primarily by piano and a warm violin. This is very calming, very pretty, but probably not the rock action you might be looking for. I'll tell you right now that this is misleading. This is the appetizer, a little dinner music to settle your nerves a bit.
Things pick up immediately in the second track,
Lay Me Down, which, amazingly, remains largely acoustic. A steady, booming drum beat persists like wheels on a sad highway, the guitar kicks in, hints of
banjo and violin are present. Of course, what really seals the deal is
Glen Hansard's voice: he sings a melodic whisper, there is nothing harsh or grating about this voice that will be singing songs on the popular subjects of
mortality,
heartbreak,
the end of love,
failed friendships,
scarlet fever. It is a soft crowbar to our hearts, which we willingly allow to pry us open. He's that good.
What will really get you is how well this album is ordered. We are slowly building to a climax here, step by step. The third song,
What Happens When The Heart Just Stops, starts a notch down, simple and brooding, but builds to a honestly
heartbreaking trumpet lick. This builds into the simple bass line of
Headlong, which, itself, is about five minutes of instruments slowly stacking on each other, layers upon layers. This is the first song that even remotely resembles the rock action I was talking about earlier. It sneaks up on you, and amidst pounding brush drums and (at long fucking last) distorted guitars, Hansard reveals another facet to his voice: an ache, a yearning, something that seems to cry out beyond himself. It doesn't quit, either: the lyrics stop, but the rock keeps happening, building more and more upon itself, leading to a falling apart, pieces that get immediately picked up by the synthetic drum beat and banjo jive of
Fighting on the Stairs. This is a pounding track, something to make the kids kick up their heels. At this point in the record, it's almost as if The Frames are showing off: they can relax you, reassure you; they can break your heart, seduce you; and now they show that they've got some basic knowledge of the elements of groove: the fuckers are making you dance.
The only track on here that I would consider weak is
Giving Me Wings, which sounds a lot like an older Frames tune, and is by no means a bad song, but something makes it seem out of place. It is a low key break between
Fighting on the Stairs and the next hard hitter of the album,
Early Bird. At this point in the record, Hansard and company have worn down your defenses enough to make a full assault on your ears and head, and they're taking no prisoners. The guitars, once a thing of beauty, are dissonant, like sirens, howling more than singing. It's around here that a whole bevy of influences become apparent:
Pixies,
Pavement,
Mercury Rev,
Flaming Lips... if it's thrashy but pretty indie rock, these guys have heard it and know exactly what elements work. The ending to the tune is even a bit surprising: Hansard, much to the horror of the
studio engineers, reversed the recording reel for the last twenty seconds, and nothing could be more fitting.
Things get more sinister.
Friends and Foe is a brooding, atmospheric song about resolving conflicts through apathy. There's even a bit of
Warren-Ellis-In-
The-Bad-Seeds violin as a bridge that really just drives the song along near the end. It is strange for me to want to call this beautiful song filler, but maybe it's because I know what's coming up. If this album has got its hooks into you already, its climax,
Santa Maria will absolutely destroy you. We start out slow, plodding here, a painful tale about a couple dying of
scarlet fever, abandoned by their friends in their final days. This is not your typical pop stuff: this is so much better. This is a slow build, perfect, consistent, from three minutes of lyrics to a sudden drop in sound, which just gives way to two minutes of
crescendo, every instrument just barely increasing in volume over time,
little by little by painful little, the building of a disease in your head, forcing its way into your
ears and your
ribcage and your
stomach until there's just no possible way you can
take this anymore when-- the explosion of sound created at the end of this build is what will kill you, just as deadly as any of
Mogwai's greatest moments. There's so much happening at the end of this song -- overdriven guitar, piano, a solid bass line, precise drums -- that you'll always be able to pick out something that you never quite caught before.
Immediately afterward, we have the denouement, in the form of the simple, lo-fi
Disappointed. What really gets me about these guys is that they can do depression and sadness without melodrama. This is very mature, honest music happening here, enough to break you, enough to give you hope. We end on
Mighty Sword, which almost seems like a call to arms, the rising of a new sun. After forty-two minutes of having your ass kicked by this album,
Mighty Sword offers a very spiritual, uplifting ending that really only gives you one course of persuit: as soon as you get through the thrashy,
Flaming Lips-esque hidden track, you
must replay this album. Over and over. And over and over and over. We haven't had anything as good as this in a long time, kids. Don't pass this one up.
I may not have said it enough times during this review, so here are some extra words that you may season the above few paragraphs with to your liking: honest honest honest honest honest honest honest honest honest honest honest honest honest honest honest honest honest honest honest honest honest honest honest.
- In The Deep Shade
- Lay Me Down
- What Happens When The Heart Just Stops
- Headlong
- Fighting On The Stairs
- Giving Me Wings
- Early Bird
- Friends and Foe
- Santa Maria
- Disappointed
- Mighty Sword
Released 2001 in the UK by
Plateau Records. Licensed in North America by
Overcoat Recordings. Recorded by
Steve Albini,
Craig Ward, and
David Odlum at
Electrical Audio in
Chicago and in
Ventry,
Kerry. All songs written by
Glen Hansard and
The Frames except
In The Deep Shade, which is by Hansard,
Rachel Grimes, and Odlum. Published by
Perfect Songs /
Toby Darling Ltd. The Frames on this record are: Glen Hansard, David Odlum,
Colm MacConlomaire,
David Hingerty, and
Joseph Doyle.
as a side note, the album title seems to be more of a dedication than self-depreciation, as in "this is one for the birds" and not "this one is for the birds."