The “Brothers” up there are the Everlys, Phil and Don, who in the 1950s set an impossibly high standard for pop harmonies with hits like “Bye Bye Love”, “Wake Up Little Susie”, and “All I Have to Do Is Dream”. Working under mentor/guitar god Chet Atkins, the brothers were a versatile duo who played pop, country, rock, folk, and R&B with equal ease, and they helped launch the careers of numerous songwriters, including-- perhaps most notably-- Felice and Boudleaux Bryant (“Love Hurts” and “Rocky Top”, among many others). While they couldn’t quite sustain the success of those singles in the late 50s, the Everlys weathered the 60s and 70s, and their legacy now spans literally every rock-and-roll generation. Their songs have been covered by Simon & Garfunkel and Bob Dylan, by R.E.M. and Eddie Vedder, by Cat Power and Neko Case.
By recording a full album of Everly covers, Faun Fables’ Dawn McCarthy and Bonnie “Prince” Billy join a long line of musician-fans who've paid tribute. What the Brothers Sang isn’t their first collaboration. McCarthy played Oldham’s vocal foil on his 2006 album The Letting Go, and since then they’ve recorded an EP, Wai Notes, as well as a gently demented Christmas-themed seven-inch, Christmas Eve Can Kill You. Of all of Billy’s many female co-vocalists, few such an easy rapport with him as McCarthy. Many, including Cheyenne Marie Mize and Angel Olsen, counter Oldham’s studied detachment with a warm engagement, which worked well on Among the Gold and Wolfroy Goes to Town, respectively. But McCarthy can sound just as out there as Oldham himself; he voice is dry and husky, with a subtle expressiveness very much like his. Rather than churning the kind of sexual energy that has driven so many duos from Parton/Wagoner to the Civil Wars, theirs is more of a Platonic tension.
In other words, McCarthy and Oldham haven’t re-gendered the Everlys’ songs for co-ed vocalists. Rather than two lovers having it out in songs, they sound like two friends drinking over shared memories and commiserating over separately broken hearts. Oldham is her “best unbeaten brother,” to quote his own song. With no driving interpretive concept here, the focus is largely on the Everlys’ adventurous taste in songs. Most of the tunes on What the Brothers Sang hail from the 60s, well after their heyday; hits are passed over in favor of deep catalogue cuts. “Milk Train”, by Tony Romeo (most famous for writing the Partridge Family’s “Hey I Think I Love You”), is told from the point of view of a train switchman; “Poems, Prayers & Promises”, by John Denver, could be a hippie anthem, which is about the furthest thing from the Everlys’ clean-cut image of the 50s. Still, all of the songs on What the Brothers Sang sound like they might have sprung from the same pen, bottling up all the complexities of broken hearts and presenting them with languid, sophisticated country-rock arrangements.
While it occasionally saps these songs of some of their tension, that sense of camaraderie enlivens the album and energizes the performers. Oldham hasn’t sounded quite so animated as he does on the cover of the Everlys’ cover of the Spencer Davis Group’s cover of Jackie Edwards’ “Somebody Help Me”, although even his invested, in-character vocals can’t quite sell the period piece “Milk Train”. Every bit his equal, McCarthy thrives in this austere setting. Without the distractions of the Faun Fables’ Americana drama, she displays a remarkable range, belting like the Heart sisters one minute, sounding indistinguishable from Oldham the next. Still, What the Brothers Sang is best when it’s simplest and most direct. “Devoted to You” and “So Sad” are all the more powerful for being so spare in their arrangements, as though illustrating the power of a small country bar band. On the other hand, “Omaha” has an exurban sprawl that sounds out of place among these more private meditations, and the rustic psychedelica of “My Little Yellow Bird” distracts from rather than reinforces the wistful melody and the lyrics’ immense longing.
Ultimately, What the Brothers Sang is a tribute to what the brothers sang, not necessarily how they sang it. The album’s true subjects are the many songwriters behind the Everlys-- an incredibly wide and eclectic sampling. McCarthy and Oldham wear the weight of that history lightly-- perhaps too lightly. This is a spirited album, yet somehow slight. It’s a modest monument to their heroes, although perhaps that is the whole point: Perhaps What the Brothers Sang is specifically intended to leave you wanting more substantial, in order to inspire listeners to dig deeper into the Everlys’ catalog and beyond.
