Swim - Caribou

Swim

Caribou
Merge Records.

SCQ Rating: 88%

I’m ready to talk about Andorra now. The five-month period running from mid-August through December, 2007, felt like a Twilight Zone episode, where I was the sole opposition to a fleet of bloggers and friends insistent that Dan Snaith’s fourth full-length was among the best records of the calendar year. And by “opposition”, I mean I didn’t participate, instead taking each instance of excited hyperbole as reason to reinvestigate my copy for that something I must’ve missed. The same problem that plagued me then exists today: there was nothing to find. Beyond collecting a few of Snaith’s most conservative, Zombies-influenced pop songs, Andorra was Caribou diluted; a filtering that erased all his psychedelic flourishes in favour of pale, computerized sketches. Eschewing melody and every trademark Manitoba/Caribou had earned, Snaith incidentally proved that being too meticulous could end up sounding oblivious.

The reason I’m so eager to discuss Andorra two and a half years after the fact is Swim, 2010’s follow-up that reinstates Caribou’s grab-bag of hippie-organic oddities while pushing electronic-pop to the warm fringes of whatever synthetic trademarks the genre has left. And interestingly enough, the best starting-point to argue the massive differences between these two records lies in its sole kinship: techno. While Andorra’s intricate pulses warded off the possibility of exhausting Snaith’s rise-and-crash dynamics (introduced on Up In Flames and nuanced into The Milk of Human Kindness’ krautrock styling), Swim finds the Dundas, Ontario native wisely merging his patented climaxes with the dance rhythms of his recent repertoire. Better yet, Snaith uses this powerhouse strategy to get insidious; ‘Odessa’ would make a swell remix of a 50s horror soundtrack if it’s creeping bass-hops weren’t simultaneously so funky and ‘Bowls’ digs fresh clay out of somber tones, drifting as stealthily as a trip down Heart of Darkness’ eerie riverbank. The resonance of these tracks owe much to Snaith’s emphasis on organic bells and whistles but are incalculably deeper due to his layering, which places brass and woodwind instruments spontaneously over a composition, instead of nestling it firmly into place. Take the manic horn squeals that provide a rush of ecstasy to ‘Kaili’’s digital storm, or the shadowy moods evoked from the saxophone/trombone combination on ‘Hannibal’; these embellishments become crucial markers for Swim, compiling a masterwork of impulsive pop-art production that thrills off of bending the rules. What better example can I offer than the arpeggio guitar-line in ‘Found Out’, which oscillates hypnotically out of tune before a subtle chord change finds it blazingly evolved - in-tune, sure, but emotionally charged as well.

Swim adequately instigates a peace-offering with Andorra, pointing out that Polaris Prize-winning record’s growing pains while teaching how to imbed psychedelic influences into taunt, lively dance rhythms. Hell, this new record owes a lot to Andorra's missteps and stands upon the shoulders of Caribou’s prior work to represent another extroverted refinement, more textured than Up In Flames without forsaking any of that breakthrough’s presence. With compositions that boast some of Caribou’s best vocal and instrumental efforts while flexing on kinetic and expressive levels, Swim is more than a return-to-form: it’s living up to Dan Snaith’s potential.

Andorra - Caribou

Andorra

Caribou
Domino Records.

SCQ Rating: 61%

Perfection looks better on paper than it sounds on record. How is that so? Because it doesn’t translate: you cannot write the perfect song without at least one x-factor lending you a hand. Every purportedly perfect recording has been aided by one of the following: a revolutionary approach to production, catching a rising trend in culture or sound (possibly by accident), having a distinct voice or musical ability that stands clear of the pack, having a killer back-story, or touching upon something that is timeless or timely that neither performer nor audience could’ve anticipated. What x-factor helped Loveless or Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band or Tonight’s the Night or Kid A? It’s seemingly impossible to pinpoint… which is why making a thesis out of the x-factor theory is so easy to stand by. For those who need another example of how perfection doesn’t cut it on record, look no further than Andorra; a record that boasts fresh songwriting, universal lyrics and immaculate production to such a degree that it sounds positively sterile.

For a man of Dan Snaith’s talents, who once masterfully filtered psychedelia and krautrock into pastoral electronica, to try to recreate a Zombies’ album gives new depths to the notion of ambition. One of the first things you’ll notice about Andorra is that it’s absolutely mesmerizing to hear. Strings are exhaling and flittering like birds dispersing, chimes and xylophones are clattering like wedding bells excitement, while auxiliary percussion and bass are mixed to be as unobtrusive as possible. I could be speaking about nearly any of these nine tracks, but ‘Desiree’ encompasses all that sugar best. Truth is, outside of the catchy ‘Eli’ or Milk of Human Kindness-era ‘Sundialing’, none of these tracks warrant particular attention since they all sound so damned alike. While ‘Melody Day’ or ‘Sandy’ are great tracks to play guests during your next pre-drink session, I wager you’ll be playing them because you know the inherent truth (and weakness) of Androrra: none of these songs grow beyond the glimmer of their first spin.

I respect Dan Snaith. I’ve listened to him reshape what I knew pop music to be and I’ve seen him absolutely rock three venues with his live full-band performances. And I respect that he tried to write and perform perfection on his own, without any aid of or luck from an x-factor. Yet without the grit of his previous fusions or the arrangements that blended catastrophe with harmony, Andorra is Snaith’s first project where he utilized his PHD in mathematics instead of his heart. These songs are a show-off of precision and multitasking; beyond that, they’re a total bore.

The Milk of Human Kindness - Caribou

The Milk of Human Kindness

Caribou
Domino Records.

SCQ Rating: 74%

Up in Flames was one of my top records of 2003 because, put simply, it never let up. The drumming catastrophes, keyboard effects and muddled vocals were all at their maximal, yet Dan Snaith always managed to walk that tightrope that separates perfection from head-aching excess. Little has changed in terms of Snaith’s muse; he is still hell-bent on distorting the psychedelic music of yore, only now he’s filtering more 70s kraut-rock than 60s hippie-chic. However where the chaos was front and centre on Up in Flames, Caribou’s latest is mobile, sometimes approachably anarchic and other times withdrawn. It’s clear that much has changed as far as Snaith’s technique goes.

The opening frenzy of ‘Yeti’ yields a human heart, as Snaith’s effect-free vocals are heard for the first time on record. Although lyrical content is infrequent, it adds a surprisingly tender component to ‘Hello Hammerheads’, a pulsating folk song with haunting undertones. In most other songs, Snaith shows off an altogether more refined production strategy, providing quieter moments that are just as exciting as his classic detonations of percussion. ‘A Final Warning’ is the best case in point, where Snaith explores a jungle of possibilities beneath a steady rhythm that never wears thin at over seven minutes in length. A similar trajectory is audible in ‘Barnowl’ (though admittedly more purposeful and with a giant pay-off), which boasts The Milk of Human Kindness’s pinnacle moment where Snaith maintains his song on the brink of suspense and then suddenly sends it careening into a noisy oblivion.

Alas, these highlights are somewhat blunted by several tracks that, in spite of showing tremendous promise, are sidelined to interlude status. Whether Snaith left them in their unfinished state because he ran out of time or couldn’t decide where to take them, I’m not sure, but I can tell you that this record would’ve been considerably better if ‘Pelican Narrows’ had been fleshed out. Although many songs here benefit from Snaith’s restraint, the strategy of holding promise instead of executing it crosses the line when the album is suffering. Still an exciting, albeit fragmented listening experience.