“Full of Stars,” the opener from Death Cab for Cutie’s eleventh album, feels shockingly homespun—Ben Gibbard’s close-miked, sing-song-y ruminations spill out over a gentle acoustic strum, building to a full-band climax that sighs more than soars. If any songwriter knows the mechanics of a heart-tugging indie-rock song, it’s the dude responsible for Transatlanticism and Plans. So it’s easy to expect a classic pay-off here: pounding crash cymbals, waves of distortion, vocals ascending to a more vulnerable high register.
Instead, it feels like a head fake. We wind up with just a dollop of clean electric guitar, the restrained pitter-patter of Jason McGerr’s drums, the low buzz of Nick Harmer’s steady bass and a barely audible synthesizer. “All I need is for you to be kind,” Gibbard admits, sounding almost numb from emotional shock. “But it seems it’s rarely worth your time.” These two elements—the stripped-down sonics, the nakedness of the words—seem joined at the hip throughout I Built You a Tower, a song cycle that frequently rivals the most poignant and electrifying peaks of their breakout era of the 2000s.
The press narrative addresses all of those bullet points in a clean, enlightening backstory: These songs emerged from a particularly raw place, with Gibbard processing the aftermath of a divorce and managing the pressure of a monumental twentieth anniversary tour honoring both Transatlancism and Give Up, the lone LP from his influential indietronica side-project The Postal Service. Hyped from the band-on-a-stage energy of that nostalgic trek, Death Cab for Cutie huddled up with producer John Congleton and knocked out I Built You a Tower in just over three weeks—their fastest studio session since their slept-on 2001 classic The Photo Album, which their latest often echoes in its blunt force and seductive darkness.
You can feel that collective gravity pulling on I Built You a Tower, their return-to-indie record (in this case, with ANTI-). Even when Gibbard unfurls his typically vivid images and metaphors (a “snowflake starting an avalanche” on the sleepy synth-rock ballad “Trap Door”; flocks of feathered friends “soaring in the silence” on the heavy and heart-quickening “Envy the Birds”), it feels like he’s drawing from a palpably real place, and the performances smack with the kind of urgent, unfussy interplay you only get from hammering out arrangements in a room with other humans.
That workflow couldn’t have been more opposite to the band’s previous LP, 2022’s Asphalt Meadows, an equally vibrant record pieced together during pandemic lockdown through games of musical telephone—file-swapping, layering, and deconstructing everyone’s parts until shapes emerged. Who’s to say which methodology was more valid? This is the band’s most invigorating one-two punch in decades, so who cares how the sausage gets made? But that laser-beam focus gives I Built You a Tower an edge, even in its most delicate moments. And those softer stretches are far from uniform: On the nakedly fragile “Pep Talk,” Gibbard pictures a bleak, colorless view as the band quilts together clean guitar arpeggios and muted rhythms; on the blurry-eyed “Stone Over Water,” the crumbled singer envisions “taking the first step into the arms of wherever, whenever” over Harmer’s oceanic post-rock bass riff and minimalist percussion.
But the most immediate high points intertwine those feelings of self-doubt with heavier, more aggressive riffs. “Punching the Flowers” comes out swinging with distorted guitars, classic emo pull-off riffs, and a relentless McGerr groove that feels part kraut-rock, part trip-hop. “How Heavenly a Slate” is mechanical, almost industrial—Harmer’s bass looming like the Grim Reaper, distorted and primal, as guitar fuzz and morbid imagery swirl (“Death lingered in your doorway”). Alternating between time signatures, “Envy the Birds” pairs melodic bass lines with acidic chords, before blooming into a lightly psychedelic break where slide guitars fittingly mimic birdsong. Toward the end of the latter, Gibbard repeats a lovely little mantra that seems to counteract the intensity: “Speak without words, no one gets hurt,” he coos. “It’s safer where it’s quiet.” I Built You a Tower feels like it was both painful and cathartic to create—a jumble of agony and ecstasy that sparked some of their most profound art. Death Cab for Cutie are clearly comfortable wading into rough waters. [ANTI-]
Ryan Reed is a writer and editor from Knoxville, Tennessee. In addition to Paste, his work has appeared over the years in Rolling Stone, Revolver, The New York Times, Pitchfork, and many other publications.
