eMusic Review
The Decemberists are probably best known for frontman Colin Meloy's juiced-up literary screeds, which tend to feature obscure historical heroes and functionally obsolete three-syllable words. The beauty of it is, Meloy's bookish prose is entirely in line with the Decemberists' post-nerd mission: the five-piece routinely squirms away from traditional indie rock postures, opting instead for wince-worthy trappings of high school geekdom like ill-fitting drama club duds (street urchin pantaloons, the requisite tree suit) and marching band noisemakers like glockenspiel and trombone. Yes, the Decemberists are lovable and smart, an oddly charming ensemble of half-grinning, half-smirking underdogs who churn out loud, gloriously hook-ridden pop.
The band's third full-length, Picaresque, offers up more tight, organ-led sing-alongs populated (unsurprisingly) by Portuguese child-princesses and Russian refugees. The unusually topical "Sixteen Military Wives" is an immediate standout, featuring honking horn swells and Meloy's bouncy, nasal whines which only half-disguise his vitriol ("America can and American can't say no/ And American does if America says it's so"). Opener "The Infanta" is a rousing fight song, perfectly propulsive and brash, while soft, mid-tempo lament "We Both Go Down Together" may be the first pop song in history to successfully rhyme "tattoo'd tramp" with "labor camp."
