Hailing from the Lower Peninsula of Michigan, Breathe Owl Breathe decamped to the wilds of the Upper Peninsula to record their latest album. They spent a few months playing around with instruments and arrangements in a cabin they nicknamed Magic Central, and by naming the album after that structure, they have bestowed on it a certain imaginative power, much like the Black Lodge or Gorilla Manor. The result is, aptly, a collection of decidedly eccentric folk-pop songs with dark emotional subcurrents, one that toggles between light and dark, precocious observations and dark mortal doubts. Yet, for all the sequestered familiarity of that creation narrative (which is reminiscent of Bon Iver’s career-making deep-woods sojourn) and for all its bleak intimations, Breathe Owl Breathe never sound isolated, introverted, or closed off. In fact, Magic Central sounds gregarious and expansive in its idiosyncrasies, which can range from charming to pushy.
As our guide through the peninsular wilderness and as the narrator of so many quirky story-songs, frontman Micah Middaugh possesses a rich tenor that suggests Bill Callahan singing stoned lullabies, but he sounds best when joined by Andréa Moreno-Beals, whosely ghostly vocals haunt these songs. Perhaps because she plays cello instead of guitar, and perhaps because drummer Trevor Hobbs seems to play various percussion more than kits, their sound is eclectic and sophisticated, less like strummed folk songs than soundtracks for short films. From the whispered chorus of "Swimming" to the 1950s-rock piano on "House of Gold", they create a wintry, overcast mood that permeates every moment on Magic Central, as if the songs were houses insufficiently insulated from the cold.
Even so, those miniature movies can be aggressive about their whimsy. Middaugh writes about hearts made of papier-mâché and monsters with good penmanship, even tagging "Dragon" with a spoken-word intro delivered in a cutesy stoner cadence. That's the low point in the album, the moment when you just wish he'd address you like an adult. But Breathe Owl Breathe do manage to wring some grim uncertainties from his folksy fairytales: Opener "Own Stunts" exaggerates his heartbreak with comic imagery that would make Shel Silverstein grin approvingly. And on "Dragon", Middaugh asks repeatedly, even doggedly: "How do you stop loving someone?" That's not a rhetorical question; he really needs to know. In trying to balance whimsy and gravity, Breathe Owl Breathe come across as both confident and uncertain, full of personality and slightly overbearing, which makes Magic Central an intriguing, often grating album.
