REVIEW: Seely, Winter Birds (Koch)
- Chris Hill
The oft-mentioned comparisons to ex-Too Pure label mates Stereolab are justifiable. Seely's music is fraught with retro synth ambience and Euro continental flair. But allow Seely to escape from under a namedrop, and they charm all on their own.
Their latest kicks off with a "lonely road" song, "El Cajon." Steven Satterfield's sultry voice, sounding like a drag Garbo of Scandanavian poise and smoky impenetrability, breathily complains "It's a long way from home/engines drone, we roam/why am I alone." The misery's easily counterbalanced by screeching bits of static samples and drums that slip and carom around the keyboard runs. The song's a lovely opener for their fourth LP (or third, if you consider that their second album Julie Only was essentially a reworking of the Parentha See first release).
Satterfield and bassist Joy Waters split Seely's vocal duties, giving the band a chocolate and vanilla ice cream swirl sweetness. Neither impart edge to the sometimes sharply pointed lyrics, except on the catty "Sister Total Emptiness," a spearing of a model whose outer beauty subverts her inner soul.
With Waters' dreamy voice trading lead and backing vocals with Satterfield's, the venom of "Altamaha," a song inspired by the band's dissolved partnership with the Too Pure label, ("you should have just come clean at first/time hides and finds your reserve broken/by and by/lies will be spoken") is neutralized - a poison pen letter with perfumed stationery. Another track prompted by personal loss, "Alias Grace," lays bare the hurt of Waters' divorce, brought into focus when she hears her ex's song on the radio. The lushness of her voice and the murmuring of the keyboards play against the harsh sting of her memories.
"Sunsites" heads down the same dark lyrical path, as water, a medium traditionally symbolic of life and rebirth, instead evokes untimely death: "Take me to the river's end/throw me in the water/let me see if he's down below." Again, the synths pasteurize the bacterial sadness, and Waters' voice floats above the sorrow, touched, yet not consumed. But on the final track, Waters dives deep. "Sandy," a poignant "loved and lost" nightclub ballad ("Sandy, can you hear me/you're a wild thing/and I miss your softness") was penned for Waters' deceased dog. The loss is conveyed with finesse by Waters' heartfelt delivery of lines like "You made it hard to let you be/with somebody else but me."
My favorite track seems the only song unaffected by the labor pains of Winter Birds. "Planes Circle Do" lists off a series of cities in a Gaudi mosaic of stream of consciousness images and impressions. Waters' graceful, fizzy vocals guide the tune along dizzily - "Lagos, Rio, coming in low/altostratus, nimbostratus/people getting skinny/smokers, eaters, tiny/planes must circle/Cape Town, Dakkar, Seattle..." - until it dwindles in the distance, a delectable ride of 7:32.
Winter Birds also includes two instrumental tracks that show concert jam potential: the energetic "Sapelo Sound" and the palpitating "The Kangaroo Communique."
Out of context, a lyric seems appropriate here: "when I listened to your song on the radio/couldn't help but make me want to go and say hey." http://www.seelymusic.com/ -- go say "hey."
