I had a small epiphany last week. On a Monday morning I was walking the two blocks to catch the bus to work. It was raining hard, I was trudging along under my umbrella, and it felt great. It's the driest year this area has had in many years, and I realized while walking that I hadn't used an umbrella even once in six months or more. On my discman was the new record by Connecticut's Landing, a loose concept album about cycles and weather called Seasons. The song playing was "Encircled (Through Falling Leaves)."
In the second stanza of "Encircled," the words "rain... comes... falling... down..." are sung in a whisper next to the wet, resonant picking of an acoustic guitar. The only thing that could have possibly sounded better at that moment would have been The Clientele, but they wouldn't have had the element of surprise because every damn song of theirs is about the rain. Landing caught me off guard and made me smile to myself on a dark, wet morning.
It's dry again now. I'm listening to Landing in the air-conditioned comfort of my living room, and something is missing. Of course, Seasons isn't having the chill-inducing effect it did when the weather seemed orchestrated for the theme, but in truth, I just don't like this album as much as either Oceanless or the Centrefuge EP. To the band's credit, they're stretching out on Seasons and trying things only hinted at before. Where Oceanless was comprised of lengthy, mindbending excursions into shoegaze psychedelia, on Seasons, Landing become a song-oriented band, crafting comparatively short, spare tunes that showcase the vocals of husband-and-wife co-leaders Aaron and Adrienne Snow.
Befitting the music, Mr. and Mrs. Snow sing in hushed whispers, where melodies are given gentle prodding and encouragement rather than being shoved into the cold world on their own. The aforementioned "Encircled" is unusual for the record in how folky it sounds, with a plucked acoustic and vocals high in the mix. It actually has something of a 70s singer/songwriter vibe to it, suggesting something quiet by Cat Stevens. I prefer this acoustic tunefulness to the indie slowcore of "Clarke Street," where Landing clearly strive for Low territory, but unfortunately lack the singing ability required of something so clear and direct.
I much prefer the longer, more experimental tracks on Seasons to the more conventional songs. "First Snow" is by far my favorite, a slowly building wall of sound with tufts of guitar distortion gathering like white flakes in a pile of dead leaves. It's a song without verse or chorus featuring the pretty sound of Adrienne and Aaron harmonizing together, and it reminds me of something from Piano Magic's Low Birth Weight shorn of dark and gloomy edges. Also interesting is "Ruins of the Morning (So Cold)," which starts in a drifting, amorphous cloud of distortion, turns into a chiming, raga-like drone, and then transforms into a minimal slowcore track that seems like a completely different song, all in the span of eight minutes.
"Blue Sky Away" closes the album on an up note, with an open, sunny vibe that feels looser and more relaxed than anything preceding it. Landing have serious gifts with mood and texture and the move toward song structures is an interesting one, but at this point, their songwriting chops don't measure up to their way with sound. Perhaps this effort, coming relatively quickly after Oceanless and their Surface of Eceon project with Adam Forkner of Yume Bitsu, was just a bit rushed.
