8 of 442
Page 11 of 56
Page 11 of 56
If this band were actual woods, they would be filled with fog swirling in sunlight, sparkling yet tenebrous, a distant falsetto clearly audible inside your ear as the leaves are chiming in the light.
They hit hard and they hit fast, with half of the songs here clocking in at two minutes or less, but they also hit sweet, with layers of boy-girl harmonies and drizzles of horn section.
When I hear indie pop as carefully crafted as this, with luminous chord changes and impeccable diction, I immediately suspect a Dutch or German origin… these cats are from Nuremberg.
The boys are back, fresh as ever and resplendent in stereo as they churn more of their distinctive hot-rod music, guitar-bass-drum sounds suitable for the open road and a full throttle.
Part holiday album, part jazz funk excursion, all Vulfpeck, this collection can be a bit haphazard but in the end has something for everyone and can be used to put your home in a festive mood year-round.
Pain, desperation, a desperate will to hang in there, and an obsession with noticing the small things in life are common themes in Eels’ musical career, and they remain present here to comfort those in need of a song to help them through.
Years from now, the early 2020s will timestamp short albums recorded and released during isolation the way protest songs on the pop charts mark the late ‘60s. This one would be near the top of the heap, intimate yet meticulous.
Of course, when it’s Sir Paul doing the pandemic recording, it’s old hat to play all the instruments, this being his third such truly solo album. Like the others, it exists in the McCartney continuum of eternal rock and roll.