Review Summary: I woke up and all my yesterdays were gone
There’s a certain mystique that has grown up around Sparklehorse these days, most attributable to the untimely demise of the group’s mastermind, Mark Linkous. Prior to his tragic suicide in 2010, Linkous was responsible for four enthralling albums under the Sparklehorse moniker, as well as several noteworthy collaborations. His releases stubbornly refuse to get pinned down, relying on a scattershot approach which alternatively amazes and befuddles the listener, with his immediately recognizable lyrical sensibility - poetic, cryptic, often playful - belying an ever-lurking darkness.
It’s that last point which lends Linkous’ death an overwhelming prominence in any contemplation of his musical output. After all, that same darkness which hung over his songs, often unobtrusively, is what ultimately claimed his life. But, there’s more to glean from this. Despite Sparklehorse’s lyrical abstraction, Linkous’ vocal delivery (and the musical accompaniment) exudes a feeling of raw humanity, which explains how I, who heard of Sparklehorse only years after Linkous’ passing, nonetheless feel a distinct connection to him - a rare occurrence for a deceased musician I’ve never met. If Linkous himself is gone, his usually soft-spoken but gorgeous mumblings live on, like a personable ghost in the house, beloved rather than feared.
This whole rambling narrative leads us to the subject of posthumous releases. It goes without saying that the very thought of releasing music without its creator being around to grant approval is a fraught topic, and there are plenty of cases to be found of obvious cash grabs without any concern for the artist's best interests. Many such releases include material still highly unfinished or far from the usual level of quality - perhaps a worthwhile product for collectors but arguably cheapening for the musician’s legacy. Fortunately, though, Sparklehorse’s upcoming fifth full-length,
Bird Machine, is essentially the platonic ideal of a great posthumous release. Not only was the primary force behind this album’s emergence Mark Linkous’ younger brother (Matt Linkous), but the Sparklehorse progenitor had also left behind an album title and tracklist, along with many of the constituent songs either fully completed or near-completion.
Even upon first listen,
Bird Machine is a godsend - a record popping up thirteen years after the Sparklehorse songwriter’s death which slots in comfortably alongside the rest of the group’s storied works. The level of quality is comparable, and the songs feel unmistakably “Sparklehorse”. Said songs are a varied bunch: a couple short and punchy rockers with abrasive vocals, like opener “It Will Never Stop” or the wild ride of “I Fucked It Up”; some catchily-dreamy numbers like “Evening Star Supercharger” or “Everybody’s Gone to Sleep”; and a handful of profound sadboi tunes like the instant classic Sparklehorse track “Falling Down” or the closer “Stay”. Throughout, the music is wonderfully emotional and evocative, and if this isn’t ultimately the project’s strongest record (
Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot exists, for one thing), it’s at least in the same ballpark as the band's other full-lengths.
While
Bird Machine does feel, in some ways, like an archetypical Sparklehorse record descending miraculously to us from on high, perceived from a different angle, it can be seen as the Sparklehorse-goes-”straight-up pop” record which Matt Linkous advises us his brother was envisioning. Here, you won’t find any jarring and clanking interludes a la “Ballad of a Cold Lost Marble” or off-putting Tom Waits features like in “Dog Door”, just a comparatively straightforward set of tunes, wrapped into the most concise runtime ever for a Sparklehorse release (under forty-four minutes in total). While the opener sounds a bit deranged, a majority of the tunes here are quite accessible. Indeed, there are plenty of songs full of easily memorable melodies, and the track “Hello Lord” even defies Sparklehorse orthodoxy with its war-bemoaning subject matter being notably more tangible than Linkous’ typical abstractly-depressing lyricism full of animal metaphors and such. That’s the bottom line here -
Bird Machine impresses both as an unexpectedly resurrected album with that classic Sparklehorse feel, and as a distinct entity which sees the project move in a comparatively polished and refined direction. Even without the mournful context of its release, it’s one of the best indie albums of the year. With that context included, it’s a powerful reminder of how much the music world has lost without Mark Linkous’ unique creative spirit continuing to craft weird yet intuitively meaningful songs. It’s only fitting that I allow Mark the last word, then (quoting from the classic “Sad and Beautiful World”):
"
Sometimes days go speeding past, sometimes this one seems like the last"
