Philadelphia's Brown Recluse make music in the long tradition of indie pop that's heavy on emotion, but the intimacy of these songs extends beyond just feelings. The band takes its name from a dangerous spider whose venom can cause skin lesions, so the Fantastic Voyage-like concern with bodily systems here seems fitting. This focus is there even when the lyrics turn towards the surreal, as when frontman Tim Meskers sings on "Wooden Fingers" about "dreams still trickling from my eyes."
The vague nature of dreams and memories pervades Evening Tapestry. The lyrical narration is often indirect and distant, recounting small, indelible details and visions both somnambulant (the surreal, cobweb-covered "Statue Garden") and conversational ("At Last", which details a cab ride). The music itself takes on the form of creeping psychedelia, as organs sickly spin within baroque structures (the aptly titled "Paisley Tears") and even the simplest six-string jangle takes on a soft-focus blur. The overall approach owes something to the heyday of the Elephant 6 collective, though nothing on Evening Tapestry gets as far out as the Olivia Tremor Control's "Green Typewriters" suite. Brown Recluse's own sunshine-blotter dabblings are more reminiscent of early Beulah, or the surreal sensitivity on Of Montreal's 1999 opus The Gay Parade. You can feel what Meskers is saying, even if the surroundings seem a bit strange.
With all the talk of paisley and psychedelia, it's important to note that Evening Tapestry is, first and foremost, an indie pop album (and one on the increasingly strong roster of resuscitated indie pop label Slumberland, no less). That means there's plenty of jangle and winsome melodical structures, recalling the dearly departed East Coast outfit Pants Yell! as much as the usual suspects: the Clientele, early Belle and Sebastian, indie-pop forebears the Zombies, and Brooklyn newcomers Beach Fossils. Unlike Beach Fossils' compartmentalized distance, though, Brown Recluse sound bright and direct throughout Evening Tapestry, like light shining through their sleepy fog. Sort of like a dream? No-- better.
