Most people know Daniel Rossen from Grizzly Bear. I shan't go into details; the group is rather well-known and obviously there will be certain similarities. For Department of Eagles, Rossen is joined by his former NYU room-mate, Fred Nicolaus, to lay down some rather dark, chamber folk. The crossroads album where cosmic folk comedown meets hazy summer pop, if you will. Melancholy pervades every song, the whole album is steeped in a longing, slightly mournful ambience, hardly surprising considering the fact that it's an album that draws on childhood experiences and memories, especially those relating to Daniel Rossen's father, who died in 2007.
"Ear Park" is apparently a childhood nickname for a Los Angeles park that they used to frequent. The album revolves around the ideas of morality, of God and of recollection. 'Waves Of Rye' seems to address an omnipresent being in the lines "Ghastly protector/save me from this waste/he's drifting asleep faster" and 'In Ear Park', the title-track and opener mourns sadly "And now that you're gone/I have nothing but time". And yet, much of the instrumentation in the album demonstrates a far jauntier air, although the past is never far away: seventies summer-pop merges with psychedelic, and at times, downright freaky folk. It's an interesting mix that, for the most part, works well.
'No One Does It' is the outstanding track on the album: a breezy shuffler of a song, with an addictive, twinkling beat and plaintive harmonies, it grabs the listener and takes them on a lolloping wander through summer-tinged memories. Jangling, west-coast, guitar chords twitch around the beat, swirling Fifties musical-style organs and keys brush up and down the scale. Like a painting of yesteryear, it feels dated, but in a pleasant, sweet, nostalgia-infused way. It's how memories are supposed to be. 'Herring Bone', a piano-ballad that morphs into majesterial, orchestral pop half-way through, could easily fit onto The Beatles' White Album, the bedfellow to 'Honey Pie'.
Indeed, this twenties and thirties music hall style hangs over another of the album's tracks, 'Teenagers'. Lush, chamber folk pours out of the speakers and the vocal delivery is that slightly crackly, very music hall manner. A parping, plodding brass accompanies the swirling strings and keys, sounding for all the world like the overture to a melodramatic musical piece.
Other tracks on the album are less accessible though. 'Classical Records' is backed by a droning organ and decidedly disturbing, low strings. A low hiss which develops into cooing, but nonetheless distressing backing vocals torments the listener's subconcious. Footsteps echo across from a distant corridor somewhere. Toy piano chords force their sinister sensibilities on the song and the aggressive strings make a final appearance. It's more of a vignette than anything else, despite perhaps being the most personal for Rossen, with raw, almost-spoken word lyrics of 'Do you suffer through those records that you turned around?/Or do you make them sleep in their sleeves where they weep?/I know tears.' It feels decidedly underdeveloped, yet still leaves its imprint on the listener's mind. 'Around The Bay' is dark, almost apocalyptic, minor-key folk-rock. A marching, yet itchy beat, spasmic hand-claps (and I do enjoy hand-claps in pop) and rattling, kitchen sink percussion underpin this rather special but nevertheless difficult to define track. One eye remains on the psychedelic folk of the Seventies, whilst at the same time holding onto the DIY, bedroom-studio ethic that remains so popular in modern pop. Clarinet and flute join the party before the whole caboodle rolls into perhaps the most disconcerting denouement of the album: the wind 'section' sounds anxious, horns clamour like a herd of petrified elephants and a nagging cut-out, like a fuse being blown, puts an end to proceedings. Odd, but in a good way.
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'Waves of Rye' opens with a minor-chord piano introduction, determined and forceful in its build-up that blossoms into a quasi-campfire song, all lethargy and wooze, and drenched in feedback.
It must be said that the album puts in a stronger first-half showing; the last two songs ('Floating on the Lehigh' and 'Balmy Night') lack the invention or the creativity that the duo quite clearly have in spades, although that is not to say that they're bad songs. 'Floating on the Lehigh' starts off relaxed and restrained before blasting off to a wiggy freak-out, and 'Balmy Night' is a banjo-led ditty that is sweet but feels a little under-formed. They're both worthy of a listen if nothing else though. It's just that having listened to the previous eight tracks (and one 'interlude'), they feel less adventurous.
It's an album that remains endearingly ramshackle and yet almost deceivingly profound. The lyrics, often ambiguous but at times pointed, are intriguing and certainly worth checking out. On top of this, the sheer variety of sounds, instruments and techniques laid down on the album is impressive and well-executed. Not always immediate, but almost invariably absorbing, 'In Ear Park' is an album that will reward repeated listening.
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