IN REVIEW: Wintersleep - "The Great Detachment"

Wintersleep has had an interesting evolution. Their first record in 2003 was a stripped down, mostly acoustic blend of earnest folk/rock and melancholic indie, while they slowly introduced heavier elements and more electric guitars through their second album en route to their true breakthrough, 2007's Welcome to the Night Sky. That record spawned the hit Weighty Ghost, which remains their best known tune and laid the groundwork for what the band would be judged on over all future recordings.

The thing is, as great a song as it was, that entire album was a triumph; it was the sound of a young band hitting its sweet spot, infusing Paul Murphy's dark imagery with fully fleshed-out, often violent soundtracks. Weighty Ghost is easy to sing along to, but much of that album is far more challenging and, therefore, far more rewarding.

Changes of scenery and attitude crept in on the following pair of records, with 2009's New Inheritors letting some sun in and 2012's Hello Hum reaching for the heavens. They were both noble efforts that kept momentum going for the band, especially internationally, but they seemed like ever so slight a step back in quality from Welcome to the Night Sky even though they were logical progressions sonically.

Which brings us to 2016 and The Great Detachment, about four years removed (yes, removed; I know the pun is right there and I swore I wouldn't do it) from their previous record and starting out on a new label. It's clear that this record is intended as the start of a new phase for the band, and to do this they've returned to their roots, recording in Halifax for the first time since Welcome to the Night Sky. There's a familiarity there, a comfort that comes through on record; the band seems more at ease on this record than they have in years.

Loel Campbell's snare brings it all in, with lead-off track and first single Amerika. A confident, even swaggering rocker, its energy is a close representation to what they do live, no small feat to capture to tape. Murphy's lyrics here are inspired by a Walt Whitman poem, and its message of equality is as important now as it was in the mid-1800s. It's a vibrant and important song, and one that sets the stage for a staggeringly good A-side.

Santa Fe starts out urgently, with swirling guitars and a fleet tempo. Murphy's verses are processed through vocal filters, sounding cold and robotic; I'm not sure the effect is necessary, but it's at least interesting, and the explosive chorus makes up for any wrongdoings. Lifting Cure injects a little east coast feeling into its guitar lead, and the tune is so melodic that even its verses are catchy. Ditto the new-wave influenced More Than, a thinly disguised pop song that shouldn't work as marvelously as it does; like many of the album's best moments, it doesn't even truly do its damage until about the tenth trip through the album, when you suddenly find yourself singing along and smiling.

The upbeat nature of these four songs doesn't prepare you for Shadowless, a darkly melancholic song that instantly transplants listeners back to 2005, as Murphy sings plaintively over hushed toms and keys while strumming an acoustic guitar. It's a sudden shift, but a welcome one; as the song progresses, there's a chance to reflect on the music and the emotionally charged lyrics before the chilling chorus takes over. If it's not the record's best song bar none, it's certainly the record's most striking moment.

There are great moments on the B-side too, although the structure seems a little off. The mid-tempo, slow building Metropolis, a fine tune to be sure, loses some of its impact because it immediately follows Shadowless. Meanwhile, the album closer is the folky, unassuming Who Are You, a quick tune that comes and goes in under three minutes without any real emotional or musical build-up; in my mind, it would have made sense to switch these two and give the album a more appropriate and effective ending.

Spirit, with its celebratory vibe, might be the closest cousin Weighty Ghost has gotten to date, while Territory gets some added muscle courtesy the legendary Geddy Lee. His performance isn't flashy or proggy in any way, but his mere presence here lends the song a powerful momentum that serves it well. Then, there's the manic and speedy Freak Out and what I like to call the "My Morning Jacket goes to the club" vibe of Love Lies, the album's greatest departure and maybe the one that leaves the least lasting impression.

All told, though, there isn't anything on The Great Detachment that I didn't like. Sure, a few tracks sound a bit run-of-the-mill, and some early reviewers have criticized a lack of experimentation. I don't think those folks listened closely enough, though, because More Than and Love Lies are definitely not the sound of a band stagnating. There is still evolution happening here and, by using their core sound as the basis for further exploration, Wintersleep have made a record that's well worth the time for longtime fans and newcomers alike.

March 4, 2016 • Dine Alone

Highlights Amerika • Santa Fe • Shadowless