Jun. 20, 2012 - Issue #870: Food Trucks

Here on a Wire

Here on a Wire
Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeroes {recordings_bands_mg} Here on a Wire {/recordings_bands_mg}
(Vagrant),

How does one broach sincerity in an age of irony?
A bulk of our modern culture is built on knowing winks and self-referential or self-aware situation-making: it's not just what we see or hear or feel anymore, it's how those things comment on themselves, how aware they are of the impressions that they give and—most importantly—how they either play to or skewer those expectations. Unabashed sincerity is far more dangerous territory to tread, fully committing to an idea in spite of its flaws, instead of coccooning those up in dry wit.
This is probably most easily seen in television and film—look to Community's pop-culture lexicon—but holds almost as much water when talking about music. Post-modernism's entered the world of sound as much as any visual medium, from the mix-and-mashups of remix king Girl Talk, to the sly, pomo riff-lifting of LCD Soundsystem. It'd be wrong to say that's totally conclusive—look at the successes of Arcade Fire and Bon Iver—but sly self-awareness is more of a norm today than it's ever been before. Dwindling in number are those who choose to venture down the more earnest road and do it well.

There are a couple still picking that path, though, for better or worse: Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeroes has certainly embraced sincerity with a big group hug on its sophomoric release Here. The band takes the family-band-in-the-Mystic Valley vibe that floated over Up From Below and double down on the idea, exchanging a lot of that first album's big, sweeping pop hooks in favour of simpler, feel-good folk burbles. Songs percolate or gently hymn along more than they soar, and, for my money, it's all a little too saccharine in all that sense of self. A line like "I love my god, god made love / I love my god, god made hate / I love my god, god made bad / I love my god, god made me," feels like it's delivered  by a kid at Sunday Service, not exactly the most compelling sentiments without a sense of questioning or deeper thought. Or at least a bit of a push through the music itself, which never really comes: Here has the feel of a pretty very casual jam session.

"Anger, anger / You're finally my bitch" comes out as "Dear Believer" bubbles along like a gentle brook, but you get the vibe that frontman Alex Ebert hasn't so much conquered it as forgotten how to bolster his words with some force. Here feels like it's trying so hard to be endearing that there isn't much much in the songs themselves to boost that up: stripped away from the hooks—which tend to transcend niggling thoughts about lyrics—and you're left with a very earnest family band album, which only carries so far if you're not already a convert. vueweekly.com comments: powered by Disqus