Grizzly Bear, Veckatimest
Featured Album
Droste and co. discover wilder, more beautiful pastures outside the Yellow House
Confession: I don't love Yellow House. Despite repeated attempts, I reliably glaze over somewhere during the record's slightly dolorous final third. That I keep wading back in is testament both to the record's enormous promise and to its handful of moments of undeniable, breath-catching brilliance — the morning-in-Disneyland glow of "Easier" for instance, or the Ronnie Spector desert mirage "Knife," or the shuddering minor-key waltz chords of "Marla." But too much of the album feels like a collection of immaculate arrangements in search of something sturdy and meaningful to drape around. It reminds me of sitting in my practice room in college, holding down the foot pedal on the piano and banging out major chords just to hear them resound.
Veckatimest, the Technicolor followup to the Monet washes of Yellow House, changes all of that right out of the gate. "Southern Point" drifts in on alternating minor chords, but thanks to a refreshingly brisk rhythm section (previous Grizzly Bear records sounded like they were drummed on lilypads), it manages the neat trick of sounding simultaneously dark and sprightly. Then, one minute in, the song takes flight — after a little anticipatory rhythmic flutter, it arcs upwards dizzily, careening through a succession of bridges and subsections with a giddy energy heretofore completely unknown to the band. As usual, there are little dabs of instrumental color in all corners of the mix: chimes, keyboards, swelling strings — they whoosh by like gorgeous scenery flying past a train window. By the time "Southern Point" deposits you back in your seat, five minutes later, your hair is blown back, your cheeks are ruddy, and you're ready for anything.
"Two Weeks," the following track, is a brightly shimmering, widescreen '60s pop bounce, and it feels like the first glimpse of new, greener pastures after "Southern Point" has sent you tumbling down the rabbit hole. Easily as indelible as "Knife" with none of its ghostly creepiness, a formally tidy little Beach Boys tribute that somehow doesn't feel the least bit fussy, "Two Weeks" is a flat-out stunner of a pop song, and a worthy hook for all of Droste and co.'s filigree.
The rest of the album isn't perfect — Grizzly Bear seem unable, or unwilling, to record an album without a drowsy middle third. But the other highlights — the jaunty Harry Nilsson swing of "All We Ask"; the wordless plainsong harmonies of "Fine For Now"; and, particularly, the slow-sunset ballad "Foreground" rank as the most fully realized and compelling music this Brooklyn group of pop classicists has ever recorded.
