When I make my annual Top 10 lists chronicling the best music I discovered during a given year, I really should add a new category: "Best Album that I'm Now Slapping Myself in the Forehead for Not Investigating Sooner, Despite It Being Recommended to Me Several Times." OK, so maybe that's a bit of an unwieldy category title. But it's an award that an ambitious indie band by the name of Anathallo would probably win, hands down. Because I certainly saw the group's name bandied about between fellow critics and casual music fans who I know and generally trust, and for whatever reason, I didn't get around to listening to their full-length debut while it was still 2006. It would have made the year's Top 10 list, were I less of a slowpoke about these things.

OK, so what's so great about this little-known Michigan band that I'm suddenly fascinated with? Well, the most obvious hook for me was that they basically sound like Sufjan Stevens with a strong Japanese fetish. I tend to like the more vibrant, layered, unpredictable, and jubilantly voiced elements that Sufjan stuffs his albums to the brim with, so while I hope that there aren't ten million indie artists out there who are going to start aping the guy, I'll admit that it tickles my eardrums to hear such a strong influence of his work on a young band like this. Add a lot more impromptu percussion (stomps, claps, snaps, weird items like chains and sandpaper) to his overall style, replace the banjo with a slightly off-kilter horn section, add lots of bells and vocal interjections and stuff, coat it with a little bit of Sigur Ros ambience, and then you'll begin to get an idea of what the Anathallo sound is like. Oh yeah, and don't forget the rather abrupt time signature and tempo changes - perhaps the one element that still stymies me despite how much I enjoy these guys. It can be difficult when you really get into a fun rhythm and then they go and snatch it away from you. But that's generally not too big of a deal.

And then there's the Japanese thing. I don't believe that all of their past work (which consists of a string of EPs dating back as far as the turn of the century) carried that influence, but their proper debut Floating World is steeped in it, with chants in the Japanese language on three of its tracks and several other songs which have Japanese titles and/or are based on Japanese stories or poems. I don't think anyone in the band is actually Japanese; it sounds to me like someone was just reading a bit of literature that inspired them, and off they went. And if Sufjan Stevens can make an entire critically acclaimed album about a state he's never lived in, then I suppose this isn't too much of a stretch. The music isn't something that I would say sounds Japanese (though I don't have that much experience with Japanese music one way or the other), but the lyrics and themes definitely evoke peaceful images of cherry blossoms, intricate garden pathways along streams, and those lovely little houses where the walls slide open and you sit on the floor to eat your dinner. And at times, they evoke violent images that play out like grotesque woodcut panels telling a story of a soul's upheaval, or maybe just a dispute between two neighbors. I like music that transports me, especially to a part of the world that I would love to go someday, so this excites me. But the band also explores subtle Christian themes (in the same semi-oblique way that Sufjan often does) in their music, and occasionally they do something just for the sake of sounding downright weird. So it's a mixed bag, one that will probably take some time for new listeners to grow accustomed to. It's not all just prettiness for its own sake.

Floating World is probably an album that is best approached with caution. On first listen, it was very easy to get excited about the array of sounds and weird time signatures, and what sounded like a homage to one of my favorite artists, and then after I ran out and bought a physical copy of the album in record time (within two days of first hearing it; I never do that with artists who are totally new to me these days), part of me started to feel like the back half of the disc was a bit of a mess to slog through, and I wondered if I had just bought into some sort of indie fan boy hype. Further listens proved me wrong, thankfully, and now I'm back to really loving it, almost enough to give it the full 5 stars, but not quite. It's that feeling of having a really good section of a song snatched away too soon, while less interesting segments can drag on a bit longer than necessary in a few places, which makes me think that just maybe the band got too ambitious for their own good. It's true that one of the best things an ambitious art-rock band can do is to confuse me, because it'll keep me coming back in the hopes of achieving a greater understanding of the words and the music. But it can be the kiss of death if they confuse me with music that irritates me rather than intriguing me, and two songs or so might be guilty of that. There are times when I feel like they change things up and sabotage a good thing that they had going in much the same way that The Fiery Furnaces do. That said, they're nowhere near that weird. I think they're just trying to challenge themselves, and not always aware when an academic exercise that stretches their creative limits doesn't translate so well to a good experience for the listener at the other end. There are far worse things that I could say about a band - I'd rather that they try too hard than just fall back on the easy and established ways of getting an audience's attention.

Are you up for a little rhythmic organized chaos? Stream-of-consciousness poetic stories told out of sequence? Flugelhorn and clarinet and autoharp and ornery trumpets and trombones blurting out oblique symphonies? Hushed, eerie passages that pass through you like a frosty Hokkaido breeze? An 8-member strong band singing layered harmonies and occasionally shouting over one another to be heard, all with the earnest devotion of giddy schoolboys (and one girl)? If that sounds as fascinating to you as it does to me, or at least interesting, then take my hand and let's step across the moon bridge into the Floating World.

Ame
This chaotic, yet claming intro track sounds an awful lot like a gentle breeze blowing through an open window and rattling your vertical blinds, or at least it would if your blinds were made out of wood. A single synth tone plays underneath it, leading into the first song when all the clackety-clack dies down.

Gennesaret (Going Out Over 30,000 Fathoms of Water)
For a minute short, there was a wonder
A sense after the momentary weird blur
In the space of expectancy
When you wake, when you open your eyes...
The band doesn't hit you full on the face with the typical "Anathallo sound" right away, preferring to lead off with a slower song with its melody gently picked out by an acoustic guitar, while bells and piano ring out, bringing a tense mood to the forefront. It's a delicately beautiful song, almost afraid to break its own surface tension at first as singer Matt Joynt tells a hushed, cryptic tale of a boat's voyage and some sort of childhood memories that this tense launching into the unknown reminds him of. Halfway through, the rhythm becomes a little more rigid, the bells begin to ring almost continuously, and the other background vocalists in the band (that's pretty much everyone involved) start to become more noticeable with their soothing melodies and occasional joyous outbursts. There's weird percussion going on beneath this - the sound of a cracking whip or perhaps splintering sticks can be heard during the song's most intense section, and toward the end you can hear chains being rattled and pieces of sandpaper being rubbed together, as a few voices repeat again and again, "Stuck and stinging, I keep rolling". (It might be something else entirely, but that's what I think it sounds like.) It's gone from from a beautiful poem about exploration to an aural mood that reminds me of a damp prison cell over the course of about five minutes - and keep in mind, this is one of the band's more straightforward songs!

Hoodwink
Out here there is no 'under the skin'
And the form of every other is hidden under covers
So let us sleep in ease of dark...
The rhythm of sandpaper and chains bleeds over into this song, which manages to be beautiful in its own, dark twisted way, ranging from outbursts of more traditional, full-on rock information, and softer moments that are sparsely populated by strands of electric guitar, bells, and unpredictable stomping and clapping. The rising and falling between moods can make parts of the song feel like they drag when you might just want to rock out to a strong, unapologetic beat, but give it some time - the crescendos here rival some of Sigur Ros's most achingly lovely moments, and later on they break into a rhythmically baffling guitar/drum breakdown (which sounds like it's in 11/8 time before switching to a lovely piano interlude in 6/8 - but I'm sort of guessing at the exact time signature). The lyrics don't lend themselves easily to interpretation, but from what I can gather, the song appears to be about a failed attempt to atone for one's own sin, to "make ourselves good again". The general sentiment seems to be that this is an impossibility, hence the title of the song - if you think you can make yourself better than your fellow human being, then you've been hoodwinked. Something like that.

By Number
Close your eyes and feel alive
Did you really feel it in his side?
No, it's just like him, but it's not him
Without the beating, this feeling is guaranteed...
I love the crashing drums (in 6/8 time to keep with the previous song's outro) and the "squashed" horns that give this song's opening a slightly deranged mood. In some ways it's a wacky waltz, very much dominated by the horns and bits of whimsical piano that play in between the louder sections where the drums are banging away like no tomorrow. There might be a bit too long of a musical interlude in the middle of this one - it's a lovely respite in the middle of a rather hectic composition, but it feels like we've only barely had enough of the verse to give us an idea what's going on, and therefore more lyrics should follow before too long, right? Anyway, the slow and steady build to the climax here pays off in spades, when all of a sudden, a chorus of men singing in Japanese pops out, happily marching along amidst claps and finger snaps as they chant lyrics which translate to an adaptation of one of the Psalms: "You hem me in behind and before, You have laid Your hand upon me." If they had the Smurfs in Japan, but they were regular-sized people, that last bit might be what they'd sound like.

Dokkoise House (With Face Covered)
That night in muddy water
The blossom unfolds as a beautiful flower...
The previous suite of three musically connected songs has been nothing short of classic, in my opinion (at least, now that I've gotten used to the weirdness of it all), but this lovely, bell-driven piece is definitely the crown jewel of Floating World. It has a twinkly, otherworldly mood to it as the electric guitar and more lively handclaps do an off-kilter dance with the bells in 7/8, occasionally adding a beat to complete the expected 8/8 once the pounding drums join in, just to throw you off a little. The rhythm strangely falls away for Joynt's lonely verse, which consists of a translates Japanese poem about a flower. (It's the only part of the song that feels unnatural to me, because I can't find where the rhythm left off or predict where it's going to come back in, but the little piano flourish there is cute.) The rest of the band then launches in this glorious three-part chorus, with one part singing their solemn ode to the sad, fading flower, the second part lifting the melody up a bit with their rising and falling "oh-oh-oh"s, and the third part simply repeating "O hana, O hana" (O flower, O flower). This leads into a lovely piano interlude, and then back into the song's intro melody - the switching back and forth between a normal 4/4 and an unorthodox 7/8 is pulled off so flawlessly, and the rhythm and melody are just so entrancing that you can't help but be swept away. It's a musical balancing act that is a bit like trying to balance a cup of green tea in one hand while fending off an army of samurai with the other, but they pull it off in one of the loveliest songs I've heard all year.

Hansakajijii (Four: A Great Wind, More Ash)
Long ago, when it all began
The dog would dig the ground
And whisper, "Master, come to the garden
By your hand to the spade, cut away behind your house..."
If you're looking for a fun instrumental jam, look no further than the beginning of this track, with its quick, clattering drums and catchy guitar chords - kind of like Sufjan Stevens' "Chicago" after a couple of Red Bulls. This of course backs off into a gentler verse in much the same way that Stevens would, with some sort of woodwind instrument I can't identify adding a little bit of foreign ambience. But don't get too attached - the first of a few sudden rhythmic changeups comes soon after as it reverts to 3/4 with handclaps on beats 2 and 3. There's great vocal and instrumental work from all involved here, with the cries of "Yeah, yeah, yeah!" underscoring this part, the band's lone female member Jamie Macleod providing lovely "da da das" in the background, and so forth. And the change back into the original 4/4 beat is pulled off so subtlety that you won't notice where they're going with at first. OK, so it's a musical accomplishment that works pretty well once you get used to the jarring nature of it - but what the heck's it about? Well, if you've looked at the back cover of the CD, then you'll have noticed that it's the first of four tracks called "Hansakajijii", and that this one's actually part four. It's a story being told out of order, adapted from a Japanese folk tale about a neighbor's dog who dug up gold in somebody's yard and subsequently killed during the misunderstandings and quarrels that ensued. The story can be found in the liner notes - the lyrics obliquely refer to it, but with so much going on, you probably wouldn't realize that there were a definite, connected narrative between the four parts of it, especially since they're presented out of order and with a few other tracks in between.

Hansakajijii (One: The Angry Neighbor)
I dug, pulling out the bites of snakes!
And slugs and bugs and slugs and bugs!
The second part of this story (well, actually the first, but you know what I mean) transitions flawlessly out of the previous track, with the last echoing cry of "Cut away to the buried" leading right into the vocal "Ah, ah ah!" hook that introduces another quick 3/4 rhythm which dominates most of this track. I love how this band is so good at using multiple layers of vocals for aesthetic texture. There's a point in the middle where this drops off almost entirely and it becomes rather loose and languid, with the vocals seemingly not tied to any rhythm, but it soon picks up again. Frustrating when you're not used to it and enjoying the rhythm that was first established, but I've grown to appreciate the intro and outro enough that the middle doesn't bug me too much. This part of the story seems to be told from either the point of view of the dog, or the angry neighbor that killed the dog - it's hard to say which, or whether multiple perspectives are in play. What I can say is that parts four and one together make an excellent mini-suite - I'd almost expect them to just be one continuous song if not for the necessity to show where the narrative has jumped from the end back to the beginning.

Inu (Howling)
As if to honor the dead dog, this track is a brief interlude of soft, ghostly "oohs" from a few of the vocalists.

Hansakajijii (Two: Floating World)
The smoke rose, the smoke rose
It'd come to make a mess of things
And throw a storm of burnt flakes...
The album's title track is a dreary meditation on death and dirt and ash, with the mournful, layered vocals crying out in melancholy agony over a soft, fluid guitar played in 6/8 time. There's a very "empty" feeling to it - the master has lost his beloved pet, all due to a dispute over pieces of metal that came from the earth in which the poor animal now has to be buried. What starts off as a bit depressing turns almost disturbing midway through, as the horns swell, like they would in one of Sigur Ros's more brooding songs, and the band suddenly turns into a menacing dragon, with hissing cymbals and ramshackle percussion, while the horns blurt out in atonal agony. It reminds me of one or two Tom Waits songs that I've heard, just without the Muppet-style vocals. It's like having a circus show up at your house at the most inopportune time, just to mock you. This is definitely the album's strangest track, and there are days when I'm just not in the mood for it, but then on other days I find it amusing. It probably doesn't need to go on with the weirdness for quite as long as it does, though.

The Bruised Reed
There are these sharp gold knives
In this space meant for affections
Where the pink skin baby once belonged...
This track might be the point where the band starts to wear out their welcome a bit - combined with the previous one, it's really the only reason I dropped this album's grade to four stars from what almost certainly would have been five. Part of it's because they've overdone the off-key horns at this point, and they creep into an otherwise compelling rhythm played by the piano in this song's intro, eventually taking over and swooping their way into another odd little waltz. It might just be the point where the band's trying too hard to cram different sections into a song and not paying any mind to the fact that someone might want them to complete one musical thought before getting musical ADD and moving on. I can hear more echoes of Sufjan in the hushed and slightly pained vocals, and in the experimental, Avalanche-like cavalcade of shuffling sound that eventually leads us back into the song's primary, driving rhythm. Once they get to that point, the song is a fun ride from there until the end, with more joyous bursts from the background vocalists, and an all-out rhythmic party going on as the piano bangs away. It's fun to sing along to all of the "Da da da"s even if you have no idea what the lyrics are actually saying. Those lyrics, by the way, seem to be some of the most obviously Biblically-inspired ones on the album, speaking of a damaged soul as a bruised reed and promising that it will be gathered up and made new again - it's done in highly cryptic terms, but I can kind of see where they got the inspiration for the lyrical idea, so I take it as an encouraging song. I just wish that they had kept the quicker-paced rhythm in effect for a full song, just this one.

Yuki! Yuki! Yuki!
Lovely, flowing piano opens this interlude, which makes me think of a flowery garden, until a trumpet and accordion come along, and then suddenly the stream shifts course and leads me to a quaint little French cafe. It's a stately little piece, which leads effortlessly into the driving rhythm of the following song.

Hansakajijii (Three: The Man Who Made Dead Trees Bloom)
I ran faster to the trees whose blossoms
Dried into grey exoskeletons
I climbed from limb to limb
Cracked the oldest spines
Some would snap and some would fall...
Our saga concludes here by filling in the gap between its tragic second act and its frantic conclusion. Drums come crashing in as soon as the track number switches over from 11 to 12, giving a little "oomph" to the rhythm we were already used to, and this is another one of those songs which oscillates back and forth between sparse verses and dense instrumental refrains. Some sort of new life is being described in these lyrics - a man with a mysterious ability to raise the dead is referenced, and it's not clear whether it's the neighbor who is endowed with this talent, or whether it's the dog's owner, or whether it's a mysterious angelic feature who appeared as a mediator. Perhaps the death that this magical being sees and then proceeds to breathe life into is more of a metaphorical one. In any case, I get a mental picture of trees rapidly blossoming and gardens sprouting up out of barren dirt when I listen to this one - imagine one of those really quick time-lapse videos of a plant growing that you'd see in a nature documentary, and let Tim Burton direct the cinematography, and you'd get a vague idea of the mood being set here.

Cuckoo Spitting Blood
Since I don't know my father, I won't be a son
In morning when words rise up
Like the echo of a stone axe
Some demon in me wants to rise up and walk away...
Despite the tragic mental picture that this song's title gives me (the poor bird!), this calm and sparse song manages to accomplish stark beauty with very few ingredients. The band has set aside all of theirs bells and horns and percussive tendencies here, and decided to rely on little more than the soft, vulnerable layering of their voices and the most gentle tone that one can get out of an electric guitar, and create a piece of flowing poetry that describes a spiritual exchange - the acceptance of some unspecified gift in return for the willingness to allow one's "demon" to get up and run away. As usual, I have a tough time interpreting what's being said, but I'm captivated enough by those wispy "Ooooh"s that I can't help but be struck by the song's intimate, repentant tone.

Kasa No Hone (The Umbrella's Bones)
A very short song - barely two minutes long - closes out the album, pulling its inspiration from another Japanese poem, which is sung entirely in that language. It's almost like an afterthought, relying on just the vocals, more of those "poundy" drums that are being hit in the center and on the sides to make a wooden, clacking sound that contrasts with the deep booms, and a tiny bit of synthesized background ambience. Translating the lyrics lends a lot of gravity to this song's simple, straightforward confession - they seem to use the tangled pieces of a broken umbrella as a metaphor for the soul, pleading, "Do not throw it away; though I also am torn, do not desert me." And the album ends on one final slam of the drums and Joynt's naked voice, repeating the poem's first line before all falls silent.

There are so many talented band members in the mix here that it's hard to know which individual to credit for some of the lovely songs I'm hearing, but it's to this group's credit that they work together so tightly, and manage to stay thematically focused despite the myriad of musical ideas being explored. Beneath the dense and sometimes chaotic layers of sound, I've found a plea for redemption, a sonic reflection of how broken a soul can really feel, and a vivid imagination that brings new life to very old words. I have great hopes for this band and I will most definitely go out of my way to see them live if they're in my area (hit up YouTube for some strangely fascinating videos of these guys performing selected tracks in concert if you want to get a feel for their stage persona). I'm going to heartily recommend this one to the more adventurous of you readers, especially those who have already discovered the magic of Sufjan Stevens, with the caveat that you shouldn't go into Floating World expecting to hear "Sufjan Stevens in a rock band". As long as we're cool with that, then by all means, go forth and explore and let me know what you thought of this one.

ALBUM WORTH:
Ame $.50
Gennesaret (Going Out Over 30,000 Fathoms of Water) $1.50
Hoodwink $2
By Number $1.50
Dokkoise House (With Face Covered) $2
Hansakajijii (Four: A Great Wind, More Ash) $1.50
Hansakajijii (One: The Angry Neighbor) $1.50
Inu (Howling) $0
Hansakajijii (Two: Floating World) $.50
The Bruised Reed $.50
Yuki! Yuki! Yuki! $.50
Hansakajijii (Three: The Man Who Made Dead Trees Bloom) $1
Cuckoo Spitting Blood $1.50
Kasa No Hone (The Umbrella's Bones) $1
TOTAL: $15.50

Band Members:
Matt Joynt: Lead vocals, guitar, auxiliary percussion, piano
Andrew Dost: Piano, flugelhorn, auxiliary percussion, vocals
Bret Wallin: Trombone, auxiliary percussion, vocals
Danny Bracken: Guitar, auxiliary Percussion, vocals
Seth Walker: Bass, vocals
Jeremiah Johnson: Drums, vocals
Erica Froman: Vocals, auxiliary percussion, clarinet, autoharp
Jamie Macleod: Flugelhorn, auxiliary percussion, vocals

Websites:
http://www.anathallo.com
http://www.myspace.com/anathallo

Recommended: Yes

Great Music to Play While: Listening