When last we heard from Death Cab For Cutie, it was four years ago and much was made of Codes and Keys. More to the point, much was made of the uptick in positive vibes and lesser focus on the guitar-driven indie rock sound that had endeared them to so many. Of course, we were happy that Gibbard had found love and married, and it wasn't necessarily a bad look for the band, but the lack of melancholy coupled with the lack of guitars marked Codes and Keys as a drastic shift in sound and tone that was difficult for some fans to digest.
Around this time many opined that, should Gibbard's marriage to Zooey Deschanel dissolve, the album that followed would be a "return to form". It was said at least partially in jest, but damn if it isn't true; Kintsugi sees Death Cab refocused on rock music, while Gibbard is back to his sweet spot, those masterfully penned odes to lost love and missed opportunity.
Take lead track No Room in Frame, in which Gibbard looks back at the relationship in hindsight and ponders just what the hell happened while his band mates churn out a hopeful, pulsating groove, like a warm blanket wrapped around the cold subject matter. It's a song that invites us to ache alongside him but, more importantly, to rise out of the doldrums. What follows is lead single and perhaps the album's most striking song in Black Sun, a candid and tense lite rocker that sees Gibbard at his most frustrated ("how could something so fair be so cruel?").
All of the ache manifests at the album's center, and the pair of back-to-back ballads You've Haunted Me All My Life and Hold No Guns. The former glides on an uneasy rhythm that skitters and gently knocks under a thick and gloomy guitar line that calls to mind some of Pearl Jam's sparser ballads before reaching a warm, full band conclusion. The latter is cold and barren by contrast, with only Gibbard and his acoustic guitar left to pick up the pieces; alone and trapped under the weight of his circumstance, he pleads for an explanation from someone who's already gone.
There's a secondary, but no less important, heartbreak at play on Kintsugi in the form of now former guitarist and longtime producer Chris Walla (his performances on this album are the last with the band after announcing his departure last year). For what it's worth, he's going out on a high note; guitars haven't played such a large role on a Death Cab record in quite some time. They strum, slash and jangle throughout, occupying spaces where electronics lived four years ago. In some cases, like The Ghosts of Beverly Drive, the shimmering Everything's a Ceiling and the majestic penultimate track Ingenue, there's a seamless coexistence between guitars and the programming, each complimenting the other. To be sure, we're not talking power chords and complete six-string domination, as there is plenty of additional instrumentation at play; still, Kintsugi is as guitar-oriented a record as we were likely to get from this band, now or probably ever again. It's as though, even if it's on a subconscious level, he's saying "you're going to miss this".
They will, of course; and, just as Gibbard laments the loss of love, there's a sense of finality musically as well. It's punctuated by closing song Binary Sea, which sees the guitar floating in the background as the bulk of the tune is propelled by piano, percussion and vocals. One last repeating chord swells toward the surface before dropping out completely for the last minute of the song, as Gibbard comes to terms with all of it and summarizes the album beautifully. "If there is no document / There cannot be a monument / So lean in close, oh, lend an ear / There's something brilliant bound to happen here", he finishes, offering the key to not just his creative motivations but also his hope for the future. For as much hurt as Gibbard's endured, he knows there's healing to be had in its aftermath; and, as someone whose music has helped so many heal their own broken hearts, he understands how it's done better than most.
Kintsugi is an album that was inevitably going to be about farewells but, as the title suggests (as we also learned from Hey Rosetta! last year, it refers to the art of repairing broken pottery with gold), it's also about picking up the pieces and, if not making something better out of them, at least getting it back together. This is an imperfect album, sure, but one that wears its damage like a badge of honor; after all, more often than not (and, sadly, at the expense of Gibbard's happiness) that damage results in gold.
March 31, 2015 • Atlantic
Highlights Black Sun • The Ghosts of Beverly Drive • Ingenue
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