A hugely eclectic label at the best of times, Rough Trade seems to have become a yardstick for the best in truly bizarre, off-the-wall pop brilliance of late courtesy of bands like The Arcade Fire and the subversive Hidden Cameras.
Yet with Portland, Oregon's THE DECEMBERISTS they seem to have gone one further out yet again. Indeed, your reviewer has already encountered several disparaging reviews of their second full-length album "Picaresque" before he's had a chance to put finger to keyboard himself, and yes, it's important to note that this album will polarise opinion and will certainly not be everyone's cup of hemlock and lemon.
But then, "Picaresque" is the sort of genre-defying affair that requires effort from the dedicated listener. It's entered under 'indie' here purely because our limited genre signposts can't really cope with records taking in everything from Motown licks, Love-style Mexicali voodoo and full-blown balaliakas in one sitting, and indeed getting to grips with such flights of fancy are an essential part of understanding The Decemberists' complex schtick.
But stick around, because it's a schtick worth hanging onto in the long run. OK, prime mover Colin Meloy has a tendency to write songs better described as 'ultra-theatrical vignettes' rather than simply 'pop' and the band have no problem in proffering a hurdy-gurdy or melodeon solo where for most people a simple guitar will suffice, but hey, take a leap of faith on these guys: you might just get a nice surprise, certainly if you relate to diversity.
Opener "The Infanta" immediately makes it plain that this album has no intention of taking roads well-travelled. A cock crows, Rachel Blumberg's drums roll ominously, guitars pick and let out the odd stinging powerchord, organs overheat and Colin Meloy is already regurgitating his dictionary and letting loose such esoteric wonders as "A phalanx on camel back!/ Thirty ranks on a forward tack follow close, their shiny brght standards a-waving!". Er yeah. Come again?
Nonetheless, the overall effect is still pretty thrilling, as is most of what supercedes it. Actually, they do occasionally slip into something slinky and recognisably pop, like with songs such as "We Both Go Down Together" - which despite some Biblical, Nick Cave-style lyrical input actually melodically shadows REM'S "Losing My Religion" - or the thunderously bouncy Motown spoof pop of "The Sporting Life", but these are largely very much the exceptions rather then the rule.
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Indeed, it's tracks like the elegiac "Eli, The Barrow Boy" and the lengthy and involved "Mariner's Revenge Song" that form the album's brooding, malevolent heart. "Eli..." is a vivid tale of heartbreak and suicide starting off folky and acoustic in a Richard Thompson-ish vein before it reaches the ghostly pay-off. It's excellent, though not half as ambitious as "Mariner's Revenge Song", which is truly a ballad-style epic from Meloy's pen which appears to be influenced by Coleridge, Jonah & the whale and Bertholt Brecht. Oh, and it culminates in a full-blown balalaika blitz, just in case you were dozing off.
Inevitably, they bite off more than they can chew in some occasions and indeed your reviewer would be happy not to have to suffer the dubious delights of tracks like "The Bagman's Gambit" too often. This spies and spooks tale starts off in a promisingly sparse fashion and even engages when it begins to sound like John Barry conducting The Hidden Cameras, but I doubt there's any hall standing that can contain the ridiculously grandiose crescendo it builds up to. Indeed, to call it 'overblown' is putting it mildly.
Still, for sodding the obvious right off and entertaining anything they damn well feel like, The Decemberists get my vote with "Picaresque". It's ambitious, exciting and sometimes falls on its' arse in a big way, but in these days of diminishing creative returns that remains a refreshing fault to embrace and an imperfection worth flaunting. In this case, at least.
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