Despite sylvan genuflections and hippy naturalism, the shaggy Alabama-born, Northern California-based core of Brightblack Morning Light are surprisingly redolent of Royal Trux. It's partially the Neil Hagerty and Jennifer Herrema thrift style, tight "best friend" relationship, and the harmonizing between guitar-toting Nathan "Nabob" Shineywater and Rhodes-massaging Rachel "Rabob" Hughes. But also take stock of the slow-mo blues, languid guitarscapes, and druggy atmospherics: Instead of smack, it's peyote, and a scrubby squat's been replaced by a tent beneath the stars. The obvious non-Trux dealbreaker? Brightblack supports sundry environmental causes, including Friends of the Eel. Nope, can't imagine Twin Infinitives' ma and pa getting too into that.
The comparison's stretched so I can make a point: Despite the Quiet Quiet Ocean Spell festivals Brightblack curates and the Joanna Newsom and Devendra entries in their hand-sewn address book, the troupe's doing something very different than what's been shoved under the "freak folk" family tree. As in many cases, it's pretty obvious they're linked due to hair length and back story-- the ho-hum tangentials. Textually, Shineywater and Hughes' hobo dispatches border on farce. For instance, a letter accompanying the press release notes: "Our mixed blood holds some American Indian somewhere, but we have no reservation to live." When I was a kid, my father signed me up for this group called Indian Guides, which featured suburban fathers and sons pretending to go back to nature on the weekends. I haven't traced their blood lines, but somehow that sorta faux-poetic hokum stinks of that same "going-native" vibe. The lyrics feature some pretty images, but are basically tossed off variations on rainbows, rain, crystals, smoke, and rivers.
Thankfully, on Brightblack Morning Light's excellent second full-length, their first for Matador, it hardly matters what the band's saying. (There's a reason Slint invited them to play at All Tomorrow's Parties and Rachel Grimes of the Rachel's helps them out.) Prior to this collection, they released the Paul Oldham-produced 2004 debut, Ala.Cali.Tucky and a 2002 split 7" with Bonnie Prince Billy as Rainywood, none of which could have prepared us for the absolute depth of sound smeared across these 10 tracks. It's all fleshed-out gorgeously by a cast of characters that includes Gojogo percussionist Elias Reitz, White Magic's Andy Macleod, ex-Zwan and A Perfect Circle bassist Paz Lenchantin (also a touring member for post-Royal Trux crew, RTX-- see, my musings aren't so hair-brained), and magical vocal harmonizers Gail West and Ann McCrary, among others. The most spectacular ingredients? R&B style flute, trombone, and clarinet. Big ups there.
The pine-cone orchestra's recorded wonderfully by Thom Monahan, the ex-Monsterland rocker and Pernice Brother who also turned knobs for Cripple Crow. And like on certain albums by pre-Kinks Lilys or My Bloody Valentine, a single level's maintained for the duration. The word "Hypnotic"'s overused, but the band's spatial know-how and rigorously muted flourishes are more than deserving of the accolade. It's well-deep, blossoming ambiance. The repetitions feel like minimalism, but it unfurls like the sleepiest loner psych.
With swirling Rhodes and wind-wraith vocals, opener "Everybody Daylight" is half-frozen rock that catches heat with a warm rhythm-and-blues ground cover. Percussion is a major ingredient of each track. Here, conga, acorn glave, and dry-wall trap kit are embellished with flute and gemstone guitars. These campfire songs will make you contort your face like Mick Jagger and nod your head in slow motion. The sound's so bottomless, when a flute starts up, it sounds like it's echoing from 12 trees deep into a grotto.
Those exquisite repetitions curl into "Friend of Time", which feels like a harvest moon, seed capsules, and gourds shaking out textural beats. Cymbals catch air like a waterfall and a trombone moves over the looping, lapping backdrop and the male/female vocals. The brief, more upbeat instrumental "Fry Bread" shifts the pace a tad, before opening up to the most shimmering evidence of the band's compositional brilliance, the 10-minute "Star Blanket River Child". Hashier vocals and louder percussion stamp "Black Feather Wishes Rise"; "A River Could Be Loved", dedicated to those eel folks, showcases a stripped-down, piano-driven, guitar-free sound.
The first few weeks I listened to Brightblack Morning Light, I was working on a longish project: It nestled into the background like one perfect, melancholic deep-woods quilt. Listening more closely, the lullabies keep showing new angles while getting livelier and livelier. That sort of compositional ruggedness is a treat: Brightblack Morning Light offers a clear-cut differentiation between run-of-the-mill indie-rock bar bands hiding out in folksy wardrobes and those doing something nuanced and complex. Hell, not even a song called "We Share Our Blanket With the Owl" could fuck up this shape-shifting slumber party.
