Plot Details: This opinion reveals major details about the album's plot.

Isn’t it interesting how reviewing an album forces you to go back and look critically at elements of those songs that you hadn’t noticed before? Well, those of you that are just reading and not writing yourselves are gonna have to take my word for it (but I’m glad you’re out there - if we were all writing reviews, then who would they be serving?), but those of you who look critically at music and try to express those thoughts to others are probably familiar with this phenomenon. The album I’ve chosen to review today, Films for Radio by the nebulous duo/group known as Over the Rhine, is Exhibit A in that elite class of albums that forces you to look closely, defies you to decode its intricate patterns.

If you’re not familiar with Over the Rhine - well, I don’t blame you. They’re one of those odd groups that doesn’t fit neatly into any niche. Originally from Cincinnati, Ohio, the husband and wife songwriting team of Karin Bergquist and Linford Detwiler, along with whatever musicians they choose to take along for the ride, create an odd concoction of folk, jazz, indie rock, post-modern pop, and a few other genres I can’t even name at the moment. Their lyrics hint strongly at the band’s Christian roots, yet they don’t fit comfortably into the CCM scene due to a sometimes risky lyrical approach (and still curiously, they appear to be a mainstay at some of the less commercialized Christian summer festivals every year). From what I understand of the band’s earlier days, they’ve been a lower-budget band floating around between obscure labels while maintaining a decidedly independent, avant-garde spirit in their craft. I wouldn’t say that they’re weird for the sake of being weird - the more I listen to their latest disc, the more I see a method to the sometimes melancholy madness.

I was turned on to OtR’s music through an online friend (fellow Epinions writer burningmoth - our CD collections are starting to look more like each other’s these days), though that’s not to say I hadn’t heard of them before. My first exposure to their music was on the Roaring Lambs compilation in 2000, with an intriguing piano-driven song entitled “Goodbye”. I enjoyed that song, but my then-girlfriend immediately pegged them as being too similar to another folksy husband-and-wife duo by the name of Say-So, due to Karin’s offbeat, warbly vocals. She hated Say-So, and I chose to leave well enough alone. Even before that, a friend had loaned me an OtR CD during my senior year of college, which lamentably, amidst a busy schedule, I never got around to listening to before she asked for it back three months later. I don’t even remember which album it was - perhaps Good Dog Bad Dog. In any case, I wasn’t adventurous in my musical explorations then as I am now, with the advent of mp3 file sharing on the Internet. (Though I should point out that Films for Radio has the rare honor of being an album I purchased after only hearing about half of its tracks - my decision was largely based on the aforementioned glowing recommendation by burningmoth.)

The 11 short Films contained within this album are mostly intriguing ones. Slow to medium tempos rule the day - melancholy piano lines flirt with seductive percussion (both real and programmed), acoustic and electric guitars add the right amount of edge when needed, and other strange instruments such as the Wurlitzer and the lap steel crawl out of the woodwork from time to time. Above it all floats the sometimes silky, sometimes eerie specter known as Karin Bergquist - the woman oozes enough curiosity and sensuality to make even her mildest whisper a passionate expression. This is basically an indie record with a budget (curiously, much of it was recorded in an old bus in a producer’s backyard in Nashville) - subversive enough to make sure the mainstream doesn’t get it, but slick enough to escape the aural confines that can often entrap a band with a low budget. Almost every track reminds me of another artist, yet hardly ever in a way that smacks of OtR ripping off any of their contemporaries. Amidst the musical diversity, a definite theme is at work - but I don’t want to spoil the end of the movie for you… at least not yet. Let’s take this one scene at a time.

The World Can Wait
I want to feel and then some
I have five senses, I need thousands more at least…
A somewhat dark and slow drum beat opens the album, and before long Karin softly slips into the mix, playing a haunting melody on the ol’ upright piano and greeting us with an ethereal “oh-whoa-whoa-whoa”. The opening actually reminds me of “To Know You” from Nichole Nordeman’s first album - indeed, some who were disgruntled with Nordeman’s shift to a slicker, poppier style might find solace in Films for Radio. Karin’s first words - “If this should end tomorrow, all our best laid plans and all our typical fears” - were rather eerie on the night I brought this CD home, put it on, and curled up with a good book - that was September 10. Rather than being creepy, though, this song seems to have a calming effect, its insistent slowness serving as a reminder to take time out from the stresses and fears of the modern world and all of its traffic jams and terrorists, to find some solitude and seek the “one religion - the kind that whispers when nobody comes around”. It’s a beautiful song, almost a prayer, as Karin sings, “I want to drink the water from your well/I want to tell you things I’ll never tell.” It puts a compelling spin on a faith that many outsiders see as corporate brainwashing, stressing the need for a personal relationship with God to bring balance to the chaos of modern life. The song runs at over five minutes, as if to say that if the world can’t wait and all they’re looking for is rocking aggression, they’ve got the wrong CD.

If Nothing Else
Words left unsaid
They may never see the light of day
And that‘s okay…
The relaxed, organic pop feel of this song and the giddy laugh that kicks it off really remind me of “You Get Me”, the second track from Michelle Branch’s The Spirit Room. Having said that, this track is decidedly more “spiritual” than that, as Linford lyrics paint a picture of Karin as a dreamer who doesn’t want the morning light to creep in and wake her from her nocturnal vision. A prominent acoustic guitar strum sets the pace here, but Linford and what seems like the type of ragamuffin band that would make Rich Mullins proud provide a host of instruments such as a Wurlitzer, a shaft guitar, a hammered dulcimer… it’s all very subtle in the mix, but makes for a unique twist on what otherwise might be an ordinary pop song. This approach actually reminds me of Sarah Masen, and lyrically this song isn’t too far off from Masen’s unassuming but hopeful style: “For the night sky is an ocean/Black distant sea washing up to my window/All the stray dog night owl junkies/Orphans, vagabonds, angels who lost their halos/If nothing else, I can dream, I can dream/I’ll never tell/Never tell all I’ve seen.” Two songs into the record and already we can tell that the group has a fascination with the phrase “I’ll never tell”. It’s also interesting to note that the night is seen as a good thing in this song, as opposed to the usual metaphor it becomes part of in your average “Christian” song.

Give Me Strength
Now I find the child in me is going to remind me
That I can‘t forget my past for long…
Faint strains of tribal drumming and chanting can be heard as this song fades in, and soon a thick, dreamy atmosphere washes over you, over which Karen floats which her dreamy vocalizations. Very cool - also very atypical for Over the Rhine, from what I understand of their older work. I guess this is the most obvious attempt at a radio single on the record (hey, give ‘em a break, the record ain’t called Films for Radio for nothing). Once the verse gets underway, you’d swear you were listening to something Dido recorded for a movie soundtrack - the similarity is just uncanny. Lo and behold, this track is the only one not written by Karin or Linford -it was co-written by Dido Armstrong herself, along with two guys named Paul Statham and Pascal Gabriel (not Peter Gabriel, though the world-beat influence might lead you to think otherwise). It’s pretty darn catchy, and compelling as Karin wails “I can’t believe that you won’t see the change in me” (especially on the second verse when the beat briefly drops out from underneath her). I only have two complaints about this song - one being that it suddenly ends after the second chorus, and the other being the phrase “all the s--- I left behind” in the first verse. I realize that (a) this song was written by someone outside of the group, and (b) the band has used the s-word on at least one occasion before, so it’s not like I think they’re selling out with this song. In a way, I have to appreciate their spunk, knowing this will further muddy the waters regarding whether they’re a “Christian band” or not. On the other hand, it’s kind of annoying to have such a word pop up in an otherwise lovely song, though I will admit it slips by in a subtle enough manner that I didn’t notice it until my third or fourth time through the CD. Overall, the song is still a keeper, tying into a major theme of the album with its desperate prayer, “Give me strength to be only me.”

Fairpoint Diary
Everybody‘s story is more interesting than mine
It took me twenty-some-odd years to see I‘d been born blind
From here in, things are a little less glossy than the first few tracks might lead you to believe this album should be. “Fairpoint Diary” puts the group‘s jazz influence on parade, shoving the organ and piano to the forefront, those and several other instruments (mostly played by Linford) frolicking over a bed of brushed cymbals and snare drums. Karin’s voice takes on a thinner quality here, even to the point where I can hear shades of Macy Gray (to Karin’s credit, this isn’t nearly as annoying as you might think). She’s probably channeling the ghost of some larger-than-life female jazz vocalists that I’d be at a loss to name due to my lack of jazz education. Anyway, the song seems to capture a Linford‘s thoughts from a particular time and place, as suggested by the title (which never shows up in the lyrics) - a general sense of feeling lost and needing direction, salvation, whatever you want to call it. Amidst the despair is a hint of something just around the corner, a clarity fighting to break through: “The darkest part of every night is just before the dawn/The sun begins to rise when we admit that we were wrong.” It may take a more subtle approach than the preceding tracks, but it’s still rewarding if you take the time to dig into it, and you have to love the whimsical mood that all the extra instruments help to communicate.

I Radio Heaven
I guess I never told you ‘bout this life I‘m living
It‘s heaven versus hell in a split decision
This seems to be the album’s theme song - it’s also the dark and most angular piece on the album, characterized by electric guitars, a fairly repetitive chord sequence, and an unusual vocal performance from Karin - the best word I can come up with to describe it is “sweaty”. She sounds ragged on this song, and for good reason, as Linford’s words this time around reflect the anxiety of a person struggling to hear the voice of God. Anyone who’s ever been frustrated with the discipline of prayer will probably relate to the words “I radio heaven, I get mixed signals, I move the antenna, I switch the channels”. It flies in the face of every trite Christian pop song promising immediate bolts of lightning from Heaven the moment you open your mouth and say “Dear God”. Over the Rhine isn’t afraid to acknowledge this more mysterious - and sometimes altogether hidden - aspect of God. This particular depiction isn’t for the faint of heart - Karin even goes so far as to sing “I’m a slut with a mission, a singular vision”, as well as some other odd lines that I’m still struggling to decode. (I seriously have to wonder how she reacted when Linford handed her the words to this song!) The band has definitely succeeded at being “different” on this one - I can’t say it’s the most solid musical performance on the record, but once again, it’s got spunk due to how they’ve cranked up the intensity knob without really cranking up the volume or tempo. And I’m sure there’s a lot more to it than I’ve discovered (in fact, I just noticed that someone is credited for playing a “bass harmonica” on this song. I didn’t even know there was a such thing!)

Little Blue River
Hey, you wanna steady that cue card
Make it a billboard today…
Okay, I know at least one person who’s gonna criticize me for saying this, but this is the one point where the album kind of drags for me. “Little Blue River” is a slower, more carefree piece, rolling along just like the river Karin sings about atop light drums, slide guitar, and Linford’s lilting piano. From what I understand, the song was inspired by a river that the couple would have to cross every Sunday on their way to church - beyond the refrain of “Roll me over the little blue river now, church child”, it’s tough to make any headway in deciphering this one. Now that’s not a bad thing - a few lines such as “Silence and dumb tongues/It’s a different kind of ghetto” are particularly intriguing, leading me to wonder if she‘s describing a church full of broken-down sinners by herself or if this song isn’t even really about church after all. Oddly, about four or five minutes in, Karin’s original song segues into a spontaneous reading of the hymn “In the Garden”. Now, the last time I heard that hymn was on an old Glenn Campbell tape my mom used to play when I was a kid. I don’t mind that, but Karin’s version follows her own tune and chord structure, and she has this way of ensuring it’s impossible to sing along with. I’m sure some find it charming, but ai-yah, this song is like 8 minutes long! I am aware that this is how they were doing it in concert, even before it was recorded, but I have yet to figure out how the song fits into the framework of the album - it seems more like a B-side to me.

Goodbye (This Is Not Goodbye)
I don‘t know who else to be
More and more I‘m secretly just me…
I was surprised to find out that this was the exact same version of “Goodbye” that was used on the Roaring Lambs album the year before this disc came out. Usually, when artists give away a song early on for a compilation, they end up retooling it a little for their own album. I can’t complain in this case, because I rather liked this one the way it was, with its echoing, Beatles-inflected piano and spacey sound effects. Since the entire theme of Roaring Lambs was Christians being salt and light in modern culture, I tend to associate this song with that theme, so I infer an evangelistic overtone when Karin sings wearily, “Help me tell the truth, you see that’s all I’m trying to do is tell the truth.” In that sense, it seems to hearken back (or rather forward?) to “Give Me Strength” - Karin simply wants to be honest and not hide the joy she’s found in her faith, but at the same time, she seems aware, and very cautious, of how the world might misunderstand her, or even judge her for her actions as opposed to her words, so she approaches this desire with some trepidation. The song takes on an almost anthemia quality as she pines “It’s not too late”, and the song stretches beyond a false ending to over five minutes. This one can also seem like it’s dragging near the end, but since I’ve been used to it for two years now, that doesn’t really bug me any more. This time around, Karin’s voice is more subtle in how it reminds me of another singer - when she sings the background vocal line “If I have to, I’ll surrender”, I could swear it’s Tiffany Lee from Plumb. But that’s probably just me.

Whatever You Say
I fall into bed, the whole horizon‘s turning red
Writing our names with a needle and a thread…
In contrast to the rest of the record, this is probably the most upbeat track - it’s still got a pretty light touch, but there’s more of a typical folk/rock feel to it, mainly because the band didn’t throw a bevy of eccentric instruments at it. I have to say that this song does falter a little in that it doesn’t have a very strong chorus, but the song’s intrigue lies more in its lyrics, which are some of the most enigmatic ones on the record. There seems to be an issue of control going on here between Linford and some unnamed individual, and it’s causing a conflict that apparently isn’t easy to resolve. Once again the language of sleeping and dreams is prominent, as if this is the only way Linford can think to escape being antagonized by this person. But still, there is a tone of regret and resignation rather than anger, as implied by the title - it’s as if Linford (through Karin of course) is offering this person a big “whatever”. That response doesn’t seem satisfying, though - the last verse hints at losing sleep over the conflict through some poetic lyrics about the sky turning red and bleeding, and perhaps Linford is realizing it takes two to tango - “All of these words that will never be said without you.” Still, a hard and fast interpretation is hard to come by, and I could be totally blowing it out of proportion on this one, but as I always say, that’s the kind of stuff that keeps me listening.

The Body Is a Stairway of Skin
You can see there are so many of us here
Breaking is the one thing we all fear…
I was so not prepared for this one! I knew it supposed to be a fairly sensual number, possibly written about sex, but instead of shock-inducing sexuality, what I ended up with was a piece of post-alternative, indie beatnik poetry driven by little other than a drum loop and some ghostly whistling sounds blowing through the empty space created by the obvious void of most of the cool instruments used in the rest of these songs. Having gotten over the surprise, I can’t say that’s a bad thing - the poem appears to run deeper than its initial sensuality may lead you to believe. With no instruments except a lap steel in the mix (the contribution of which is very subtle), we’re left with Karin’s voice to provide us with any sense of chord structure, and she seems to defiantly return to the same note over and over during the verses, with the only refrain being a nonchalant “la la da da da”. Other than the stairway mentioned in the title, other non-obvious metaphors are made - “The body is a book of matches”, “The body is a hallway of mirrors”, and my personal favorite, “The body is an apple on the very first tree”. That last verse is spoken, just to add to the song’s defiance, with Karin breathing the words underneath her own nonsensical chorus, leading the song to a rather abrupt ending. Listen/read carefully, and you’ll pick up some clever lines, such as the fragile line about our fear of breaking followed by the old hip-hop cliché “Break it down”, which resurfaces right at the end of the song as “Shake it down”. This has gotta be a song you either love or hate. I have to wonder whether fans ever scream “Play Stairway!” at Over the Rhine’s concerts…

Moth
It‘s hard to believe that if I ever lose my will to live
It was me that I could not forgive…
While most of the record’s songs transition smoothly into one another, I have to say I really like how the last whisper of “Stairway” leads into the gentle “oh-oh-oh” that starts this song off on another smooth mixture or organ, piano and shuffling drums. Actually, once you get beyond the verse, this one sounds a little closer to a radio-ready pop/rock tune, albeit not anything you’d hear on Christian radio due to its initially alarming chorus that starts with the line “There’s no savior hanging on this cross”. (That doesn’t sit well with folks who like to quote song lyrics out of context much like they often do with the Bible.) If you take a closer look (listening to Over the Rhine demands that of you, you know), you’ll see a story of a character who can’t seem to forgive him/herself, and therefore has a difficult time with the concept of grace. We all know about moths and how their favorite pastimes is to be drawn to bright lights which end up killing them. Interestingly, Karin characterizes this person as “a burning moth without a flame”, as if to say that the person has an appetite for destruction but isn’t actually capable of destroying him/herself. Pretty darn weird, if you ask me. Even weirder is the line at the end of the bridge - “If I were to take your place tonight, wouldn’t Jesus be surprised?” So is that sarcasm, or can Jesus be surprised, or what? Well, obviously this one requires a bit of unraveling too. Thankfully it’s wrapped up in a colorful musical package, with a nice little guitar riff showing up in the middle of a song as the icing on the cake (how’s that for mixing your metaphors?) I might wish the chorus kicked in a little stronger, or that Karin didn’t repeat the “ooh-whoa”s so much at the end of the song, but then, I can’t expect radio-friendliness to be OtR’s M.O., now can I?

When I Go
It makes a difference that I‘m feeling this way
With plenty to think about and so little to say…
The album closes with a sparse, haunting acoustic ballad, that’s about as fine of a musing on death as anything Dave Matthews has come up with in recent years. Faint notes are slowly picked out as fingers travel up and down on an acoustic guitar - the effect reminds me of a blustery autumn day, for some reason. Karin has a decidedly bluesy sway to her vocal style this time around, and it’s frankly quite seductive. Since she wrote the song and she’s playing the guitar, the spotlight’s mostly on her (as it was on the first track), though Linford provides a little backup on the Hammond Organ, lending the song a slightly churchy feel to it. Despite the slowness, there’s a sense of urgency as Karin’s voice gets louder during the chorus “I want to know, will it make a difference when I go?” In other words, will she have affected the culture around her or will she have just spent her life wallowing in her own questions? Or is it so bad for others to see her asking those questions? That very process seems to be the centerpiece of this album - experiencing faith as a process and not just a tract full of convenient answers, and letting people look in on that process, with all of its doubts and joys and frustrations and conflicts - even its swear words and other colorful outbursts. Through it all, Karin assures those of us who think she might be falling away from her faith - “I’m not letting go of God, I’m just losing my grip”. Interesting thought… but don’t get too pensive, or the electric guitar solo that bursts out of nowhere in the middle of the song will result in that dark colored (and possibly hot) beverage you’re sipping being spilled all over the front of your shirt. You’ve been warned.

Hmmm… looks like I gave away the ending, or at least my last minute interpretation of the ending. Sorry about that. The main rule of artistry is “show” not “tell”, and I was so excited I just went and “told” you. But then, you’ll probably entirely different themes in this collage of fine cinema than what I did. You just have to be willing to sit through the slow parts… and maybe to you, they’ll be fascinating. I’ll leave it at that before I ruin any more surprises.

Oh, okay, one more plot twist before I go: Linford’s parents are Amish. Discuss amongst yourselves.

TRACK REVIEW SUMMARY
Excellent: The World Can Wait, If Nothing Else, The Body Is a Stairway of Skin, When I Go
Good: Give Me Strength, I Radio Heaven, Fairpoint Diary, Goodbye (This Is Not Goodbye), Moth
Decent: Little Blue River, Whatever You Say
Weak: NONE
Skippable: NONE

Cast Members:
Karin Bergquist: Vocals, upright piano, acoustic guitar,
Linford Detwiler: Hammond Organ, acoustic guitar, upright piano, electric piano, Wurlitzer, drum loops, Hofner bass, Vox Super-Continental Organ, toy piano, keyboard flutes, rain tree

Supporting Cast:
Michael Aukafor: Hammered dulcimer
John Catchings: Cello
David Davidson: Violin
Pascal Gabriel: Programming, keyboards, drum loops
Don Heffington: Drums, percussion
Jack Henderson: Lap steel, 12 string guitar, electric guitar
Byron House: Bass
Dave Perkins: Shaft guitar, electric guitar, E-bow guitar
Mickey Raphael: Bass harmonica
Terri Templeton: Harmony vocals
Michael Timmins: Electric guitar
Kristin Wilkinson: Viola

Phew! Bet you’ve never even heard of half those instruments!

Website http://www.overtherhine.com

Great Movie to Play While: Okay, this joke is getting old now.

Recommended: Yes