The first time I saw Bradford Cox play a drunken night in San Francisco, he was hardly capable of standing up,let alone keeping a song together. Suffice to say, we got off to a rocky start, but I’ve since been made quite a believer. If anything his substance abuse that particular evening stuck with me when reading his statement on the decision for the new album’s name, Halcyon Digest (4AD), “The album’s title is a reference to a collection of fond memories and even invented ones… The way that we write and rewrite and edit our memories to be a digest version of what we want to remember, and how that’s kind of sad.” We all have memories we’d prefer to forget, and worth drinking past. Deerhunter isn’t without their fare share of tragedies. The record runs the gamut from blissfully nostalgic to a soft sadness regarding the irreversibility of time. There’s particular attention to aging and loneliness, though mostly paired with a sunny backdrop. The self-produced album got an assist from Ben Allen, who produced Animal Collective’s MPP and Fall Be Kind EP, which should set the stage for the album’s tasteful expansiveness.
Beneath the noisy yet ethereal atmosphere lays a bedrock of straight pop. Bradford Cox and Joshua Pundt let memorable hooks spin and spin amidst a nebulous sound, like pinwheels in the swirling wind. Despite it’s content getting heavy here and there, Halcyon Digest, moreso than prior releases, feels sun blistered and bright. “Revival” is a perfectly relaxed beach-soaked pop number, which drives hard and keeps you slapping your knees. Cox, now more than ever, displays a magnificent range and angelic purity to his tone, reminiscent to the indie favorites, Grizzly Bear. “Basement Scene” plays bittersweet in its distinct end-of-summer tones, but its lyrics suggest the occasionally somber theme of the record, “It could be the death of me/knowing that my friends will not remember me/I don’t want to get old.” This bittersweetness hits best on the back half of the record with the single, “Helicopter,” which drips with an echoing drum machine, chiming bells and psychedelic effects with a bright yet lonely melody in the canopy above it all, “Nobody cares for me/I keep no company/I have minimum needs/And now they are through with me.”
However, there are a handful of songs that lean away from sunny atmospheres, getting groovier and shoegazey. “Earthquake,” features a downpour of multi-tracking, the seemingly 20 some-odd acoustic guitars rippling like a flock of scattering birds. “Desire Lines,” opens up into a lengthy, entrancing breakdown, carried by bass and straight ahead drums, and steered by shimmering guitar licks on repeat. Similarly, “Fountain Stairs” hammers like a great 90s rock groove, complete with sax accompaniment, though the true sax number on this record is “Coronado”. “Sailing,” while more of a folk ballad, lyrically embodies the inverted drive behind the typical shoegaze song, “Wind in my sails/I live for days/No water, no food/It was good/I didn’t mine, no/Nowhere to be/Nothing to see/Except me.”
Final track, “He Would Have Laughed” is a tribute to Jay Reatard, and was recorded by Cox alone at Notown Sound in Marietta, Georgia. This track serves as testimony to Cox’s impressive composition capabilities, tasteful choice of effects, and a monster on the loop pedal; not to mention a touching dedication to a shooting star musician that burnt out bright if but far too early. The intimacy and sincere intensity of the track at times feels like songs from Thom Yorke’s The Eraser.
The production level throughout the album is a great mid-level, big enough to reach expansive levels, but not hesitant to strip down to bare, gritty essentials. Combined with increasing accessibility, their opening spot in Spoon’s tour becomes an easy line to connect. The songs build wonderfully, starting from stutter steps and reaching elegant strides. They hit moments of golden glory, but are steeped in loneliness. Halcyon Digest proves a truly dynamic, transporting listen and a satisfying volley from a band held with considerable expectations.
- matthew hunt
