If bearded angels exist, they probably look (or at least sound) a lot like the Fleet Foxes. The Seattle folkies' 2008 debut assured the hipness of mandolins and multi-part harmonies, and their 2011 follow-up is just as inspiring. This time their bucolic melodies stretch across further terrain: Think Simon & Garfunkel times three, transported back to the Renaissance. Luscious strings and woodwinds waltz on demand for frontman Robin Pecknold, who somehow remains remarkably humble: "I'd rather be a functioning cog in some great machinery, serving something beyond me."
On his debut, Justin Vernon, aka Bon Iver, is lonely and it shows. Recorded one winter in a secluded Wisconsin cabin, For Emma, Forever Ago is overwhelming in its bleakness. Vernon's haunting falsetto delivers confessional lyrics in yelps and whispers over little more than an acoustic guitar. It's slow and deliberate -- songs fade out, only to storm back after seconds of silence -- but Vernon's intensity keeps the album from dragging. Throughout every song there's an unwavering atmosphere of melancholy that creates a cohesiveness rarely seen in today's indie rock landscape.
We don't know how he does it, but Samuel Beam, the man they call Iron and Wine, somehow managed on his first album (culled from lo-fi tapes) to take the experience of lying in the grass in the country at twilight, listening to crickets and looking at the stars just creeping out of bed for the evening, and turn it into sound! Sure, he can and does draw from the repertoire of Nick Drake, another dusky cricket kind of guy. But Beam's aural country air, crafted out of hushed acoustic instruments and his own rock-a-bye voice, is so tangible you can almost smell the soft sweetness of the grass.
Fans of the kind of tattered, emphatic folk-ish rock made famous by everyone from Richard & Linda Thompson to Arcade Fire could do a lot worse than this London four-piece's sterling debut. Augmented by banjo, Dobro, horns, mandolin and double bass, among other instruments, these songs (anthems?) do not go gently into that good night. Rather, they explode, careen, effuse, languish, etc. And did we mention the banjo? Super-faves include "The Cave" and "Little Lion Man," and "White Blank Page" is liable to give you goose bumps. Really, there's not a dodgy tune on here.
Welcome Joy reeks of the Pacific Northwest -- lumberjack vocals blend with lush acoustic melodies like rocky terrain melting into the sea. Seattle's the Cave Singers have tapped into their homeland's mysticism with a mix of brute and beauty that looks to tradition for inspiration. Pete Quirk's gruff howls cut through the trio's foot-stomping beats, tambourine taps and acoustic picks, providing a sound that takes on both classic rock ("At the Cut," "I Don't Mind") and traditional folk ("Townships"), like Fleetwood Mac and Woody Guthrie bunking together in the mountains.
Scandinavia might seem like an odd place for an Americana and country-folk scene to exist, yet the region has churned out more than its fair share of pickers and storytellers since the original folk revival. Multi-instrumentalist Kristian Matsson is a wily indie-folkie with a frog's croak that calls to mind Woody Guthrie filtered through Deer Tick's John McCauley. The Wild Hunt, as with its predecessor Shallow Grave, is a collection of scratchy rustica whose constant backdrop is the Swedish countryside. It's there that Matsson is to be found, a troubadour in search of meaning, love and home.
Released just months after Rejoicing in the Hands, but recorded at the same time, Nino Rojo follows Banhart and his group of merry wastrels from morning deep into the night. Song after song, he walks the line between creating psychedelic children's music and surreal elegies to love and life. This is folk music for those who don't believe what they see.
Originally meant to appear alongside 2007's The Stage Names, this sequel album is far from serving as a vat for leftovers. Okkervil River continue to shine in the storytelling department with various portraits not of stand-ins, but of the real things: glam rockers ("Bruce Wayne Campbell"), newly famed heartbreakers ("Calling and Not Calling My Ex"), pop star phonies ("Pop Lie"), the spoiled and disillusioned ("Singer Songwriter"). Moping piano, refined horns, twangy guitar, perky tambourine, doomy drones and spacey interludes all help tell their cynical, ironic and introspective tales.
To Willie's cover looks familiar because it's an homage to 1977's To Lefty from Willie, Nelson's tribute to Lefty Frizzell. Exactly why From Phosphorescent wasn't added to the title of this album is anybody's guess. Nevertheless, Phosphorescent turn in a damn good listen, filtering their hero's outlaw country through hazy indie folk. "Can I Sleep in Your Arms?" in particular is just a warm and intimate piece of music. By album's end, To Willie will make you wonder why indie rockers don't do more cover songs.
The Decemberists continue to prove they are far more than well-read indie-popsters from Portland. After 2009's Hazards of Love, the quintet steps out of prog rock's dense forest and lands on an expansive pasture where accordions, harmonicas and banjos run free. As R.E.M.'s Peter Buck lends some of his 12-string guitar prowess and Gillian Welch adds lightness to standout single "Down By the Water," the folk lilt lifts Colin Meloy's melancholic cries to twangy croons. Though the foot-stompin' melodies fit him well, his usual cutting wordplay has softened some in the sun of this bucolic setting.
Following in the footsteps of Monsters of Folk and Molina & Johnson, Middle Brother is an indie-folk supergroup featuring the singers from Deer Tick, Dawes and Delta Spirit. Their debut album is a tasty mix of Cosmic Americana, country balladry and oldies-encrusted rock 'n' roll. What's really cool is how they sound like a real band, rather than three singer-songwriters merely taking turns out front. Highlights are many, but pay special attention to "Blue Eyes," a Jayhawks-inspired stomper, and the slow-burn "Theater," which totally feels like vintage Crazy Horse.
On previous records Vetiver's Andy Cabic was a freak-folkie who obviously owns a fat stack of awesome albums -- not bad, but not great either. With the release of Tight Knit, however, the dude is no longer a collector-nerd. This is profound landscape music, a misty coastal piedmont thoughtfully carved from the singer-songwriter's twin loves: vintage British folk and West Coast soft rock. Everything here works perfectly, from the compositions to Cabic's elegant whisper to his band's patient gait.
Seabear began as a one-man band, Sindri Mar Sigfusson (did we mention he's Icelandic?), but by the release of this sophomore album it had become a full-fledged collective. More manpower means more gusto, and in Seabear's case, more opportunities to prove subtle nuances can truly make a song. Horns and harmonies give them Arcade Fire-like robustness and flair ("Lion Face Boy," "Softship"); lap steel, slide guitar and banjo give them down-home charm ("Wooden Teeth"). With a dash of melancholy, tracks like "Cold Summer" and "Warm Blood" combine the best of both worlds.
The differences between alt country and indie country are subtle, yet definite. War Elephant, the debut studio album from Deer Tick, is the latter. It's the sound of kids, not men, raised on Guided by Voices and Brit pop, who are now wandering classic American rock and folk in search of an identity. Peppy sing-alongs like "Standing at the Threshold" and "These Old Shoes" feel more informed by the Kinks' version of country on Muswell Hillbillies than, say, the Outlaws or even Gram Parsons.
Boys, take note. This is an album to play for the ladies. Share those headphones, take a walk at sunset, and show her that you have worldly music tastes (these guys are Norwegian!) and a romantic side (but one that's not too cheesy). That album cover pretty much says it all -- the music within is like Simon & Garfunkel hitting the same beach that has Jack Johnson flipping banana pancakes. But dang it if that acoustic picking and those hushed harmonies -- as delicate as the sand tickling their toes -- aren't carefree and catchy and perfect for declaring your own dependence.
Blitzen Trapper is a lot like Dr. Dog. Both groups are American roots rockers imitating Brits who are imitating American roots rockers. Furr, for example, feels heavily inspired by Unicorn, the Move and Help Yourself, vintage English groups which filtered West Coast hippie rock through their native culture. This is important to keep in mind; if you approach Blitzen Trapper expecting 100% American-made country rock, then all the ornate Brit pop touches and sweet harmonies will drive you batty.
Sans vibraphonist Keaton Snyder, who appeared on Time to Die, The Dodos are back as a duo. It's quite amazing what depth of noise just two guys can produce, and that may be because they sound like they're constantly chasing each other: Logan Kroeber works like a full drumline just to set the pace for Meric Long, who completely attacks his guitar, his fast fingers picking like mad until his acoustic nearly buzzes in defeat. Long's McCartney-esque croons and guest Neko Case's supple harmonies help harness all that energy, especially on standouts like "Companions" and "Don't Try and Hide It."
