Alright Iron & Wine fans, I know y'all saw this one coming. It's been five years in the making, and it's bound to annoy some of the indie purists out there, but this guy Sam Beam, who first made a name for himself by simply releasing an album full of low-fidelity folk songs he recorded in his own home, has graduated to the studio and begun to play with increasingly non-folksy textures until finally arriving at his third full-length album, The Shepherd's Dog, which is every bit as intriguing and subversive as his brooding acoustic creations have always been, and yet it's completely on another level. I don't think very many artists could pull off such a thing without it seeming like they had sold their souls to some evil producer in the process. But Iron & Wine has boldly stepped forward with a new creation that comes to life on its own terms.
The reason why I say that those of you who were already fans saw this coming is because we got a few EPs during the long wait since Beam's last full-length album, Our Endless Numbered Days, and those both showed a darker-hued, more nefarious side of Beam, approaching an alternative rock aesthetic at times on the Woman King EP, and playing out some sort of "cactus noir" fantasy on the collaborative effort In the Reins, with Southwestern instrumental band Calexico. Those short records should have been full-length albums, because they hinted at greatness to come and I'd have gladly taken 5 or 6 more songs in the style of each. But when I finally arrived at The Shepherd's Dog, I was blown away by the various colors and layers woven into these new songs.
Here's what we're up against this time - traditional instruments like the good-old acoustic guitar, piano, banjo, fiddle, mandolin, slide guitar, lap steel, and whatever else might give a folk or country record a good bit of "twang" bump up against more exotic instruments like the sitar, African-styled drums, accordion, and shoot, even the electric guitar, which hasn't been a typical component of Beam's work in the past. It would be easy to just overwhelm an intimate folk song and turn it into an unnecessarily full-blown rocker, but Beam's more interested in texture than volume when he brings in these instruments, and so he uses these multiple layers of sound, and even that much-maligned instrument known as the recording studio to his full advantage, to give each and every song an ominous mood that, for the most part, is anything but "quaint, hushed folk music". It's still folk music at its core, but it's the kind that makes you squirm a little bit instead of just chilling out to gentle songs about love and nostalgia. That's going to be a bit of a rough adjustment to people who swooned over the sparse simplicity of songs like "Naked as We Came" or "Fever Dream", since this new style is more in keeping with haunting tunes like "Cinder and Smoke" or the startling "Evening on the Ground". If you're looking for sweet, gentle lullabies, you'd best stick to Jack Johnson, because this feels a bit more like the mirror universe counterpart of Sufjan Stevens at times.
Now I'll admit that with so much going on, it's tempting to think that Beam's hushed vocals might be getting a bit lost in the mix. I thought that at first (especially with some of the effects that it gets soaked in here and there). But you know what, I've never had trouble understanding most of the things that he has to say on this album. Well, I take that back - I mean to say that I've never had trouble making out most of the individual words. What they actually mean is another story - and this should be nothing new to any Iron & Wine veterans. The songwriting's as poetic and descriptive as ever, but Beam's style tends to prefer giving us snapshot after snapshot, allowing us to fill in the motion that gets each character from A to B, rather than telling a fully-connected story. That means you're going to have a lot if imagining to do in order to get a feel for these songs, and I for one enjoy being sucked into this world. At times, his characters do make me wince, though - they're corrupt, they live in broken-down places, and some of 'em seem to be a bit hostile when it comes to the subject of religion. It's to Beam's credit that I'm still so engaged and intriguing by this album when he may in fact be taking a few swipes at Christianity. I really think it has more to do with pompous two-faced hypocrites who preach one thing and then practice another, so in a sense, he and I may have the same complaint. Beam's not afraid to use a little bit of coarse language when drawing analogies about the way that these people live their lives. That used to bug me, but since I more or less understand where he's coming from, I think I'm in a much better position to relate now, even if I'm not sure what the hell point he's getting at half the time.
I'm sure there will be some cries of "sellout" when those who preferred the simplicity of The Creek Drank the Cradle attempt to get their heads around this record, but I believe that it's important to distinguish between artists who use the studio as a tool to add subtle moods and textures to their work, and those who just use all the bells and whistles (or have them suggested for them by producers who don't care about the artist's individuality) to cover for nominal songwriting and performing talent. Beam doesn't come up nominal in those areas, so despite the array of sounds coming from your speakers, he's got nothing to hide here. He's just giving you a greater panoramic view, in which you can get lost among the details and appreciate a different facet of it each time. To say that this approach is all about production and not at all about songcraft is about as absurd as it would be to say that about Radiohead's Kid A. I just wanted to get that point of clarification out of the way before I go into a review where I know I'm going to be gushing about all of the pretty colors. Are we cool on that?
Pagan Angel and a Borrowed Car
I was still a beggar shaking out my stolen coat
Among the angry cemetery leaves
When they caught the king beneath the borrowed car
Righteous, drunk, and fumbling for the royal keys...
Nice fakeout here, going all lo-fi for the guitar intro, and then jumping to hi-fi when the "full band" joins in - hand drums, twangy guitar picking, lush piano, violin, marimba, and some sort of metallic bending noise that could be the sound of someone playing a saw, for all I know. It's a beautiful, full mix of sounds, but the tune's also got a "ramshackle" sort of feel to it, and that fits with the lyrics, which are an uncomfortable juxtaposition of such noble things as promises of love, angels, and all that, and rather ugly characters such as beggars, drunken kings, and birds that "sh*t our empty chapel pews". That's the uncomfortable space that Iron & Wine occupies, and this song gives us a fine first impression of Beam's new sound. He's doing his own BGV's here, just to add a little emphasis to his trademarked ghostly whisper of a voice.
White Tooth Man
Said the plain clothes cop to the holy ghost
"I've heard nothing if it wasn't the wind"
And we all got sick on a strip club meal
While the statehouse was frying all the witches again...
I'm hearing a little sitar as this song fades in - the slight touch of exotic instrumentation gives the song a more primal setting, as if there's some sort of a modern game of "Cowboys and Indians" going on here. Plenty of messed up characters occupy this busy, bending and twisting tune - chief among them is a plainclothes cop who doesn't seem to have a clue where to find the man he's hunting down among this small town's cast of shady characters. There's a bit of reverb on Sam's voice this time, which makes it feel that much more like he's cupping his hand around your ear and letting you in on someone else's dirty secrets. The buzz of the sitars creates a nice bed for an earthy electric guitar solo that follows the song into its final fadeout.
Lovesong of the Buzzard
Springtime and the promise of an open fist
A tattoo of a flower on a broken wrist
Lucy tells me jokingly to wipe her brow
With a pocket map to heaven and the sun goes down...
Now we're in more of an easy-going, folksy mood, with quick, light percussion propelling a simple acoustic guitar melody forward, giving me the mental image of a rambling brook. Sam's gonna do "pleasant" on his own terms, of course - you can probably guess from the title that this will be anything but a conventional love song, and from what little he gives us in terms of lyrics this time, it seems like he's abstractly describing a relationship that looks like love, but is really motivated by something more selfish and sneaky - like a vulture hanging around, waiting for another animal to die. There's no "chorus" to speak of here - just a glorious slide guitar refrain and an accordion going all loopy. Now that I listen more closely, I'm noticing a bit of organ in the mix there, too. The accordion eventually trails off into some unidentifiable backmasked noise, which bleeds beautifully into the next track.
Carousel
Almost home when I missed the bottom stair
You were braiding your gray hair
It had grown so long since I'd been gone...
This one's a surprising change from the usual "sparse ballad" that you'd expect from Iron & Wine - it's extremely delicate and almost entirely devoid of percussion (save for a few quiet cymbal rolls), but the entire thing is beautifully picked out on the electric guitar. The marimba adds a slightly whimsical element here and there, and Sam's voice is filtered to give it a sort of "underwater" sound. His sister Sarah Beam adds some lovely backing vocals on this one, and it's interesting how it still plays as a transparent, emotional folk song despite the "plugged-in-ness" of it. The lyrics remind of "Naked as We Came" in that they seem to describe the thoughts of a man who is aging - perhaps he is too old to see properly, and missing a single stair could be the end of him, and who would know that he was gone, and feed his dogs, and write to his kids? It's played with a subtle sense of melancholy that makes it one of the standout tracks on an album that seems to have more of 'em than should be allowed. Once again, we're treated to the same backwards sound that brought us into the song, as another beautiful fade into the following song is flawlessly executed.
House by the Sea
Two jealous sisters, they're waiting for me
And one is laid on the floor
And one is changing the locks on the doors...
Beam went all West African with the percussion here, which is pretty freakin' awesome if you ask me - there's some sort of a bass harmonica or whatever the heck it is giving the song a "swampy" feel, and underpinning it all is a lilting acoustic rhythm that keeps the song grounded in the trademark intimacy of Iron & Wine's music - despite all the production and layering, you can hear the strings squeaking as he moves his fingers about, and it adds glorious realism. Beam plays a man with a dilemma in this song, singing of two sisters who are apparently both former lovers of his - one seems to want him back and the other seems to want him dead. Everything's great here - the electric guitar interludes, the little "lifts" in the vocal melody, the "delicate jam session" feel of the whole thing. Even the weird, electronically-processed percussion that breaks in at the end doesn't feel out of place - it's an "anything goes" bazaar of joyous sound.
Innocent Bones
God knows if Christ came back, he would find us in a poker game
After finding out the drugs were all free, but they won't let you out the door again...
I can't quite put my finger on it, but something about this song has a vague "island" feel to it, maybe mixed with a bit of a Southwestern feel thanks to... whatever those wooden things are that look like fish with ridges and you rub sticks against them and it sounds like bugs. (Iron & Wine just won the Sufjan Stevens award for "interesting use of more instruments than I can name".) There's a glorious banjo solo in this one, and plenty of soft "oohs" and "aahs" from Beam's army of background vocal reflections to serve as counterpoint for his lyrics, which are admittedly a bit harsh. I'm more or less used to his ruminations on religious hypocrisy, but I'd be lying if I said this song didn't sting a little, with its parable about Cain and Abel and the messed-up things that both of them would do if they were alive today. Saints are selling churches off for profit, those very churches are built from the bones of the innocent, parishioners are too busy gambling to care, and a man's professed love is really all about "f*cking and denying who he's thinking of". He even uses the phrase "penthouse Christian" at one point, which I suppose could have multiple interpretations. It's more impressionistic than accusatory, but I still wonder if I just got my toes stepped on a little.
Wolves (Song of the Shepherd's Dog)
Wolves in the middle of town
And the chapel bell ringing through the wind-blown trees
To wave to the butcher's boy
With the parking lot music everybody believes...
Beam's most daring experiment takes him into a territory that I hereby dub "swamp reggae" - the syncopated rhythm and the echoing piano chords will definitely conjure up images of swaying palm trees, but there are plenty of sonic effects and stuttering guitar parts to keep us firmly rooted on the mainland. (What's a good compromise between Jamaica and the American South... the Everglades, perhaps? Probably not. I'm at a loss for a good geographic analogy here.) This might be the one places where the layers and the experimentation do obscure the lyrics a bit - I can read 'em on the big poster that Iron & Wine calls a lyric sheet, but hell if I know what's going on in this song, beyond villagers being stalked by sinister wolves. The song swirls around as it builds momentum, turning into a hazy jam session lasting more than five minutes, and at one point there's a talkbox effect on the electric guitar that makes it sound like an annoyed duck walked into the studio, trying in vain to get all of those other instruments to shut up already.
Resurrection Fern
In our days we will live like our ghosts will live
Pitching glass at the cornfield crows and folding clothes...
This song would have fit comfortably on the In the Reins EP - it's a simple blend of acoustic guitar, banjo, and some gloriously sad lap steel. The Calexico influence (or at least, what I'm presuming is their influence based on the sound of that EP) is worn proudly here, as beam sings a delicate tune which seems to be about the disappointment of an unanswered prayer. Not satisfied with the language of conventional religion, he seems to be turning to the imagery of nature for a redemptive metaphor, noticing the fern growing out of a dead oak tree. There's lots of talk about fleeting youth wasted on selfish things, and ghosts and all that, and there's a definite air of resignation to it all (especially when the rhythm slows ever so slightly leading back from the chorus into the verse), yet in its simplicity, this one turns out to be one of the album's most beautiful songs.
Boy with a Coin
A girl with a bird she found in the snow
Then flew up her gown and that's how she knows
If God made her eyes for crying at birth
Then left the ground to circle the earth...
The album's first single was definitely a good choice - a rare "up-tempo" song for Beam, with an acoustic guitar part that dances across the speakers, and a lively hand-clap rhythm. It's probably the most immediately "catchy" thing on the album, which is a tricky prospect, because the hook is nothing more than a chorus of "Hey"s and "Aah"s. (Not that this has ever failed Beam in the past - see "Cinder and Smoke"). The song seems to mull over the concept of suffering, and whether it's a God-ordained thing, or just pure dumb luck, a flip of the coin. The use of a "boy" and a "girl" as the song's main characters, rather than full-grown adults, seems to underscore the unanswered question of why the innocent die while the wicked get to live on. More of the backmasking (I'm starting to think it's a piano, actually) that we heard book ending "Carousel" creeps in here, giving the song a prolonged, meditative coda that once again, leads effortlessly into the next song.
The Devil Never Sleeps
Dreaming again of a train track ending at the edge of the sea
Big black cloud was low and rolling our way
Dog at the barbed wire barking at my buzz-cut friends
Friend with a switch blade shining in the summer rain...
Wow, two upbeat songs in a row - I don't think that's ever happened on an I&W album. Thanks to the jaunty piano, we've basically got a lively bar tune here, which opts for the quick and dirty approach, saying what it has to say in two minutes and then getting the hell out of Dodge. Excellent piano and guitar solos in this one, and I love that Sam, a quintessential indie artist if ever I heard one, has the gall to muse about "Everybody b*tching, there's nothing on the radio."
Peace Beneath the City
Say something for the body buried like a keepsake
Mother of million mouths with the very same name...
Beam brings the creepy for this dark tune that sounds like it takes place in a dark tunnel underneath a graveyard somewhere. A bit of electronic feedback and a talkbox with attitude play off of a minor-key acoustic melody (and a little more of the sitar) just to amp up the goosebump factor, and Beam's voice sounds like it's echoing through a long tunnel. This is a song about a nation built on the burial grounds of others, driven over carelessly by selfish shoppers with their vain pursuits. The texturing in this one is brilliant - I love the mood and feel of it even though I know it's supposed to be giving me the willies.
Flightless Bird, American Mouth
Now I'm a fat house cat cursing my sore, blunt tongue
Watching the warm poison rats curl through the white fence cracks...
Sam comes out of his dejected funk for the final song, which a slow but slightly playful waltz depicting a man in search of a special... someone? Somewhere? He could be after the love of his life, a difficult-to-reach landmark, or a rare species that would make all of the other zoologists envious, for all I know. What I do know is that the way his voice lifts up into falsetto territory during the chorus is quite lovely. It's a peaceful note to close out a sometimes restless album.
If this were the only Iron & Wine album I had ever heard, you'd have me convinced that the man could do no wrong at this point. Unfortunately, this disc also has the effect of making his past records a little harder to listen to because they don't seem as fully "realized" as this one. I'm certain that this stance will get me into arguments with those who prefer things more "pure" or "lo-fi" or whatever, but I've always been a big fan of artists who expand their sound rather than contracting it. This bold artistic statement not only stands out as Iron & Wine's finest album to date - it's currently my pick for "Best Album for 2007", and given that there are only three months left in the year, I'd say that the chances of it being knocked out of that spot are slim to none.
ALBUM WORTH:
Pagan Angel and a Borrowed Car $1.50
White Tooth Man $1.50
Lovesong of the Buzzard $2
Carousel $2
House by the Sea $2
Innocent Bones $1
Wolves (Song of the Shepherd's Dog) $1
Resurrection Fern $1.50
Boy with a Coin $2
The Devil Never Sleeps $1.50
Peace Beneath the City $1.50
Flightless Bird, American Mouth $1
TOTAL: $18.50
Website: http://www.ironandwine.com
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