Hallock Hill

13 June 2009

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Grizzly Bear, “All We Ask,” Veckatimest (Warp 2009)

Perhaps it was easier for some to love Grizzly Bear when they were (even) younger and before the numerous accolades from various quarters—from Radiohead to the New York Times—elevated them to their current indie plateau. Some of the flood of press, in print and online, related to the May 26th release of their latest album, Veckatimest, shows a deeply conflicted view of how to approach this band. Some accuse the record of being too ornate, too orchestral and layered. Would you say that the Chrysler building is too shiny, or that there are too many trees in the Adirondack Park? Of course not. Others say that the record is a bit clinical and sterile. While I did find their recent performance at Town Hall (Friday May 29th) a bit this way (they just seemed to lack any joy, though how can that be quantified?), Veckatimest more than justifies its own architecture.

For one thing, Ed Droste and Dan Rossen have never sounded better vocally. The crystalline production and mix serve their voices well, and they both seem to have hit a sweet spot where their characteristic detachment and pathos can co-mingle productively. The opening lines in “All We Ask,” are classic Droste lament-melancholy-thinking out loud. The harmonies that ensue amplify the sense of mystery, and are what truly make Grizzly Bear the modern inheritors of Beatles, Byrds, Beach Boys vocal theatrics. The 2:49 mark in the single “Two Weeks” is a clear high point of the record, where the instrumentation recedes and the four quite unique voices wrap round themselves. Chris Taylor provides some incredible multi-reed accompaniment, and his engineering and producing are as always spot on, bathing the record in a richness and depth that few have these days. Where Radiohead, for instance, create equally voluminous layers of sounds and structure, Grizzly Bear takes on a wider array of timbres. The four-part harmonies add depth to their constructions, in a way not dissimilar to, but in a completely opposing way to, say, the Fleet Foxes. If you follow me.

The opening “Southern Point” swings as few modern rock songs allow themselves too. Not your grandmother’s swing, though, but Rossen’s accented upbeat leading to Reichian pulse swing. I am most amazed by Chris Bear’s percussion—and it was he who stood out most live in their show at Town Hall. A real texturalist, Bear both grounded the band and gave them their subtle accents. He reveals a deep knowledge of both his kit and his body, using both to explore the subtle variations of sound that are available through minute changes in location and attack. Watching Chris Taylor play his many instruments in performance, while kneeling, recording a part into a looper and then changing to another instrument, shows how the band builds its songs in graphic fashion.

The one criticism levied against Grizzly Bear that seems to resonate with many is that they betray a certain preciousness. I don’t hear this at all in their recordings, but their detachment on stage did tend in that direction. For me, though, the artifact is the album, and Veckatimest will stand the test of time, once all the hoo-ha has subsided and all that is left is the history of a young band that made records. Grizzly Bear has taken all that was magnificent in Yellow House and moved into new territory. To say it is precious or overwrought or overdone misses the entire point: since the consistency of their vision is so fully formed throughout the 52 minutes of these twelve tracks, Veckatimest roots itself completely in its own plan. Yes, some worlds are claustrophobic and occasionally constrictive, but then they open and bloom. This album is a bloom. And “Foreground” may be one of the best album-closers of all time. Think of the development from Rubber Soul to Revolver. And we all know what came next. Grizzly Bear imply a similar trajectory. Let’s just hope Allen Klein doesn’t get involved.