Over the past year, it's become fashionable to add the twitter and jasmine of 1970s folk to the tastemaker's stew. Sure, that sound has always been around, kept alive in both the thriving cult of Nick Drake and by the dudes who get into Tim Buckley because the hottest girl they ever knew loved his kid's voice. But if the folk trend started in earnest late last year with the homey, kitchen-sink ramble of the Fiery Furnaces' Gallowsbird's Bark, then it broke wide open in 2004 with the enthusiastic reaction to Devendra Banhart's Rejoicing in the Hand.
Tanakh's Jesse Poe has been flirting with folk for some time; his 2001 debut, Villa Claustrophobia, is a rootsy, often incredibly multi-ethnic sonic bouillabaisse. But with Dieu Deuil, Poe's harnessing of organic folk and psych textures feels even more effortless-- and just a little bit genius.
Working with a new slew of collaborators-- including violinist Dan Calhoune and bassist/backing vocalist Michele Poulos-- Poe has fashioned a warmhearted meditation steeped in historically American rhythms. However, the record also has streaks of Villa's afield folk enclaves. "The Lord Is in This Place... How Dreadful Is This Place" is a Middle East drone tinged with traditional percussion, snatches of vocal chatter, and a wavering violin lead. "Images" is an introspective, possibly improvisational piece that percolates with faraway found sounds, brassy cymbal, and an accordion that flits down a dark passageway like a rambunctious child thief.
While these stylistic wanderings are charming-- and stippled with a pleasant warmth-- Dieu Deuil's primary thrust is a slowly setting, vaguely psychedelic Americana sun of robust acoustic guitar and keening violin. Poe's smoky baritone drifts through the whispering branches of "November Tree", which suggests everything from Pink Floyd to acoustic dream-pop. "And sometimes you find a little peace of mind/ In your tinfoil stars and your bottle of wine," Poe intones, "And sometimes I still need her." Poulos' echoing harmonies ease the song's darker suggestions ("Now I know/ All of us will have to go"), as does its hangover percussive brushing and hopeful bridge.
Tanakh seems to be admitting a bittersweet mood, but hoping to get out of it with some love, drugs and affection. That intent seeps through the six sighing minutes of "Instrumental", which finds a quiet inlet of babbling electronics, thoughtful electric guitar soloing, and tear-streaked violin. The track is exactly the type of modernist folk interpretation that's been buzzing in informed circles since the emergence of Sufjan Stevens. Although Poe's vocals occasionally seem like an afterthought, he scores big with "Lady Eucharist". On that track, his plucked acoustic guitar follows the loping path of a trap kit, and his shifting intonations make his brittle cerebral folk that much more engaging.
Tanakh's Dieu Deuil, the boppy mysticism of Vetiver, and the healing qualities of that band's Banhart all point to something in the comet's tail. Maybe it's a purposeful move away from the ghettoizing qualities of alt-country. ("We like having acoustic instrumentation over for beers," people seem to be saying. "Just don't invite Ryan Adams.") But the recent embrace of intelligent, sadness-tinged introspection could also have something to do with the sudden passing of Elliott Smith, in whom those qualities simmered like battered, fermented fruit. Whatever the larger forces at work, Jesse Poe has sketched another quiet heaven with Dieu Deuil, a record that sounds like a parchment ink of folk's roots but also basks in sun-dappled 21st Century modernism.
