Shearwater are often considered "underappreciated," but they're just properly appreciated by an understandably modest, devoted fanbase. Though their handsomely recorded albums and Jonathan Meiburg's former membership in Okkervil River put them in the context of NPR darlings and amphitheater headliners, they're still a tough sell: Often compared to Talk Talk at their most commercially forbidding, they're not populist like Okkervil or the National, their theatricality doesn't appeal to a specific brand of geekdom like the Decemberists or Andrew Bird, and their artiness is too pretty and studied to be edgy. Even when trying to describe what makes something like Rook's "The Snow Leopard" a staggering listen, you're left with chin-stroking explanations, like how a trumpet's fanfare finally breaks the tension of John Congleton's immaculate production, but it lasts three seconds and takes four minutes to get there.
On Animal Joy too many changes are afoot to think Meiburg isn't chafed by the situation: They've peripherally moved from one indie titan (Matador) to another (Sub Pop) and from one revered indie producer (John Congleton) to another (Danny Reisch). But more notably, take a look at the unusually plainspoken title: Animal Joy proves they are still a naturalistically minded band, but in dropping the more arcane conceptual gambits of their self-described "trilogy" of Palo Santo, Rook, and The Golden Archipelago and speaking in layman's terms both emotionally and sonically, they're taking their best shot at meeting new listeners halfway.
They come racing out of the gate to do so on "Animal Life"-- Meiburg's amped-up choirboy vocals have always been suited for grand, sweeping gestures and yet he's never delivered something so overtly pop. To put it in his preferred orinthological terms, it's a peacock moment for sure, pure 1980s corporate rock because it somehow sounds expensive, striving to honor ambition itself as intrinsically good-- it could be a Florence and the Machine song, NBC could use it to soundtrack their commercials for the Summer Olympics, but they throw in enough fussy chord changes and dissonant fringe to keep things from getting too cozy. There's a similar release-the-hounds rush to "You As You Were", a sonic and poetic ramble culminating in Meiburg's desire to "Go back to the East/ Where it's all so civilized/ Where I was born to the life/ But I am leaving the life." Whether it's meant as a candid admission from a touring musician or a nod to the desk jockey that longs to mount a wild steed, it feels like a mission statement; Animal Joy doesn't so much stand for carnality but for the thrill in upsetting the equilibrium between domesticated repression and desire for primitive abandon.
While Animal Joy doesn't totally do away with Shearwater's exploratory tendencies, Ek's production is radio-friendly in the sense that there's a constant presence to this music-- even the comparatively quieter moments make themselves heard fairly easily. In the past, Shearwater songs occasionally got loud, but lead single "Breaking the Yearlings" is loud throughout, big churning guitars and busy, inventive percussion from the truly underappreciated Thor Harris. That said, it's still a Shearwater song in that you'll get more out of it if you happen to know that yearlings are essentially pubescent horses, energetic and unpredictable. Indeed, though considerably dialed-back, Meiburg hasn't lost his preference for poetic devices-- whether equine or otherwise-- to keep any attempts to present Shearwater as a red-blooded, blue-collar rock band short lived. Amidst the trudging orchestral strains of "Insolence", he announces rapture as a time "when my thoughts become undisciplined... it is effortless," a wish-fulfillment fantasy for a band whose power is often the result of fairly obvious effort. And though Shearwater typically allow themselves one song per album to rock out of character, "Century Eyes" or "Corridors" wouldn't prepare you for how "Immaculate" gets all Eddie & the Cruisers with it, complete with tweaked 12-bar blues riffs, and a reckless loner named Johnny as a narrative device.
Yet while being Shearwater's most accessible record by some margin, it isn't quite the best, and toward the record's back half, it begins to become clear why. Meiburg's inimitable vocals aside, this is the first batch of Shearwater songs that could conceivably be the work of another band, confirming what made Rook unique while hinting at their shortcomings previously unexpressed. While the streamlined "Open Your Houses" and "Dread Sovereign" ably replicate the rhythmically stoic but emotionally jittery mien of fellow Austinites Spoon, Meiburg's imperious vocals cut against a musical backdrop that calls for more strut or swagger. Likewise, the startlingly ordinary iPhone-waver "Star of the Age" closes Animal Joy by bringing Shearwater perilously towards to the sort of adult-contemporary indie wallpaper they've never been.
These are minor quibbles, as even Meiburg admits that Animal Joy is something transitional for the band. And it's a welcome move-- The Golden Archipelago fell victim to the sort of indulgence and inscrutability that's to be expected from a concept album titled The Golden Archipelago, and the worry then was that Shearwater would be content to drift even further into their rococo fantasies without realizing they'd left the rest of us behind. Even if Animal Joy brings them closer to the mainland of pop and rock, it'll still take a lot to place these guys in the middle of the road, and after all, what's a more basic animal joy than to be appreciated?
