Review Summary: Minus the Spenserian conceits, Meloy and company have gone back to making records that aren't a chore to listen too.
Colin Meloy has always had grand ambitions in his music. These ambitions are mostly lyrical, stretching his renaissance and Victorian style vocabulary to spin yarns of roguish figures, damsels in distress, heroes, and the like. To his credit he never shied away from these ambitions, and thus he penned what he surely felt to be his magnum opus in 2009’s prog-rock extravaganza
The Hazards of Love. Unfortunately this “magnum opus” fell into all the familiar trappings for prog-rock concept albums. It was too long, too derivative, and turns out his lyrical panache should remain confined to a shorter timespan. In a word, The Hazards of Love felt forced. Everything from the odd tempo changes, genre experimentation, lumbering riffs, to the B-version
Faerie Queene rip off of a narrative; it all felt forced. An unfortunate development in The Decemberists’ story, really, because a large part of the band’s success was based on their ability to remain charming in their ambitions, to never feel overtly forced. Through
Her Majesty,
Picaresque, and even the more expansive
The Crane Wife, Colin Meloy’s archaic wordplay and the (sometimes) ridiculous genre exercises (I mean, really? A nine-minute sea shanty?) had a certain charm that warmed over the listener to accept the more questionable aspects of the music.
I don’t normally feel the need to speak so specifically of a band’s previous album(s) to address a new release, but with
The King is Dead, it is imperative. Because to appreciate The Decemberist’s new album is to examine it against the closest counterpart; in this case
The Hazards of Love. If the latter felt forced,
The King is Dead is quite the opposite. The new record rolls across the listener with ease because all of the melodies—the choruses, bridges, verses—are immediately satisfying. The production is crisp and clean and more akin to a Top 40 selection than a Decemberists’ album. Right from the stomping opener, “Don’t Carry It All”, with its sharp harmonica intro, the new feeling is announced. This is a stripped down album, with Meloy marking this shift verbally. “Here we come to a turning of the season” goes the opening line of
The King of Dead. A turn, indeed. Nowhere is there any sign of towering concepts full of clichéd conceits, tired riffs, or layered production. Yes; this is an easy record to enjoy.
Too easy for some, perhaps, particularly to those who enjoyed the grander ambitions of [i]The Hazards of Love[i/]. But where the record falls close to that invisible, zone of neutrality—that “frustratingly harmless” zone,
The King is Dead stays clear with some smart decisions. Had this album come out earlier in their career, it may have fallen deeply into that zone of neutrality leaving critics and listeners alike with the overwhelming feeling of indifference. Essentially,
The King is Dead needed the bands back catalogue to be the success it is. Because the band has grown since
Castaways and Cutouts, and in that growth and experience they have honed a voice that they can call their own. Their experiences allow them to make smart decisions that give heft to an otherwise light album. It’s the subtle slide guitar on “Rise to Me”, or the haunting “oohs” that cut through the lovely “January Hymn”, or even the lilting minor chords of closer “Dear Avery.”
Not all the decisions work, though. The fiddle heavy, country twang of “All Arise!” never really falls into the album. It stands on the outside and points to itself as an outcast. In other words, it is one of the few times where the record has that forced feel that marred
The Hazards of Love. Similarly, “This is Why We Fight” has a strong enough chorus, but stumbles around looking for an equally strong hook in the verse, while the extended outro does nothing to add to the song or the album as a whole, as it doesn’t flow particularly well into the closer. Still, the good decisions and song writing far outnumber the poor ones, and so while two of the songs fall short, they don’t detract too greatly from the album as a whole.
It seems Meloy has emerged from his opium cloud that shrouded The Hazards of Love to make a record that feels fresh.
The King is Dead shows The Decemberists in brighter spirits. They seem to be enjoying the music they’re making again, with no cumbersome concepts to adhere to. Minus the Spenserian conceits, Meloy and company have gone back to making records that aren’t a chore to listen to for the listener. It may be harsh to say
The King is Dead is a return to form, but instead it feels like the same band who tried one idea on the previous record, and has now stumbled upon a better idea for this record. Ultimately The Decemberists have always been an idea band, so a concept album was always in the cards; I’m just glad that hand has been dealt and a talented band can move on from it.
The King is Dead, long live the King.
