The Uber-Hipster, Super Scene Band Still Rocks.
After giving Death Cab’s new album, Narrow Stairs, a couple of listens, this is what you need to know: You’ll either hate it or you’ll love it but either way you’re going to want to listen to it.
The album itself lacks the cohesiveness and smooth qualities that Transatlanticism and The Photo Album had, but when seen as a collection of songs, it is quite possibly their best yet. (That said, I did get a prerelease so the song orders might be different on the real version due out on May 13th.)
Die-hard fans who are still nostalgic of the good old Transatlanticism days will undoubtedly have their criticisms. Ben Gibbard’s voice sparkles with studio polish (or maybe vocal lessons), but they’ve turned in the overly-produced tracks of Plans and resorted to heavy bass lines, drum beats, and synth effects. The album will give off an aura of jamais vu to the obsessed (such as myself) who were expecting something they’ve heard before only to find the album completely different from previous DCFC works.
The album starts off with Bixby Canyon Bridge and immediately dives into the typical Death Cab motifs of disillusionment, lost love, and what-ifs. Soon, you’ll be hit with songs like No Sunlight — which contextually is reminiscent of The Sound of Settling. It is short, happy power-pop at its finest. Other songs (specifically, Cath…) sound like songs that should have made the Plans album but didn’t. Already we’re seeing that this album is more dynamic, surprising, and dissonant. The songs that are meant to rock out actually do so — with strong bass lines, loud drums, distorted vocals, etc — and the songs that are meant for the radio are obviously poppier, quieter, and nicer. This album jumps between extremes and unlike Plans, which was often too lukewarm, never stops to visit the middle.
Ben Gibbard’s lyrics are as clever as ever but more matured and subtle. The strength of previous albums were how visual they were — you could see the music video in your head if you paid attention to the lyrics. Some would argue that this was also a weakness that was covered up by the emotions conveyed in his voice. This album, Gibbard seems to go for a more difficult path and though he does take the easy metaphor (“You look so defeated lying their in your new twin-sized bed / With a single pillow underneath your single head”) every now and then, he does an artful job overall.
One Rolling Stone review said it best: It’s a ballsy, brave effort, sonically every bit as dissonant and sanguine as you have heard, full of songs that thrash and rattle and bounce around echo chambers, tunes that display muscle and bravado and even brains.
Needless to say, I’ll be buying a copy of the CD on May 13th and am looking forward to shelling over my $42.50 (plus the $58 my right hand, firstborn son and left leg in Ticketmaster fees) to see them in concert.
Still listening to the album,
Mathew