No one can accuse Justin Ringle of being an optimist. As the leader of Portland, Ore., folk outfit Horse Feathers, he's trawled in dark subject matter that recalls Southern gothic authors William Faulkner and Flannery O'Connor. Words like "regret" and "shame" make regular appearances in his lyrics-- alongside references to hard church pews, blood-stained snow, and sinners who take human and animal forms. All this misery may come across as disingenuous considering the band's PacNW roots, but somehow Horse Feathers have managed to rise above being consigned as cultural backseat drivers, weaving hushed, ornate arrangements that ably serve Ringle's uneasy imagery.
2008's House With No Name was slightly more sprightly than Horse Feathers' 2006 debut, the dourly titled Words Are Dead, but there was still an undercurrent of depression, owed both to the droning hum provided by cellist/vocalist Catherine Odell and Ringle's voice. However, on their third effort, Thistled Spring, there's a definite change of sonic mood. On previous albums, melodies remained unshaped beyond anything but their own emotional cores, but there's real movement here, as the many parts that make up the arrangements push and pull with one another instead of simply congealing. Album standout "Belly of June" swoops and dives in a major key, while the thrushing yawns of "The Drought" and the urgency of "Veronia Blues" render a drummer's presence (something Horse Feathers don't have) irrelevant.
Clearly, the band has found a new level of confidence. Ringle, in particular, sounds more full-throated, exuding a physicality on "As a Ghost" and "Belly of June" that adds color to his still-bleak subject matter. Speaking of, there's plenty of talk about ill-fitting nooses, abusive frost, disastrous floods, and whatnot-- but it's Ringle's descriptions of nature's temperate splendor that stick with you this time around, as he muses on lark's looks or faith-stealing heat with equal passion as he does on the futility of living. So ignore the melodrama and enjoy the littler pleasures that are provided on Thistled Spring-- and there are quite a few. You can hear them in the space between Ringle's voice and the band's interplay, the zithering strings in "Starving Robins", the build and burst midway through "Belly of June". Complex, yes, but complexity that's expressed in a rather straightforward manner, while embracing a newfound sense of bright coherence. Spring's finally arrived, and hopefully for Horse Feathers, it'll stick around.
