The idea that technical proficiency shouldn't be a barrier to artistic expression was a cornerstone of punk rock, and it's also been a license for acts of all stripes to create shitty music. That only partially explains what Candy Claws were up against when they decided to compose their second album, Hidden Lands, on keyboards of which they had no prior knowledge. They're not the first act to trade in their guitars for synths, but often it's a choice of a band looking to make a reinvention of their sound. For Candy Claws, Hidden Lands is likely to be a lot of people's introduction to the Fort Collins, Colo., group.
The lyrics of Hidden Lands were composed by running Richard M. Ketchum's The Secret Life of the Forest back and forth into a translation program, and Candy Claws took notice of how the slightest changes could lead you to think differently about otherwise prosaic phrases. Those whispered words bleed into the sonic fabric of clippity-clop percussion, Theremin-like swoops, and aqueous keyboard textures, but it's almost like the music itself has undergone some transformation that makes it sound distinctly alien and out-of-time.
In terms of precedent, Candy Claws occupy a realm similar to Mercury Rev's Deserter's Songs or the back half of Animal Collective's Sung Tongs and Feels. These sounds seemed to exist in an eternal alternate reality. There's a lightfooted bossa nova going beneath the dubbed-out studio tricks during "On the Bridge", and each melodic turn ends up being just a step away from what you'd expect. Chords don't really progress so much as melt down and morph into interesting new shapes on "Warm Forest Floor" and "Hiding", while "Sun Arrow" gives Black Moth Super Rainbow's caricatured synth blurts an herbal bath.
Which is not to say that Candy Claws lack edge-- they just use it judiciously. Hidden Lands starts out with its most amorphous track (imagine if Sung Tongs led off with "The Softest Voice" instead of "Leaf House"), nearly seven minutes of gentle prodding and exploratory chords taking a long bridge to nowhere in particular. But as it draws to its calming close, the fanfare of "Sunbeam Show" blares like an alarm clock, signaling a magisterial procession before evolving into a sleigh-bell led waltz on the chorus. Meanwhile, the tropical vibe of the two songs that precede it seem to have given the alternately wobbling and playful "The Breathing Fire" sunstroke. It's all so strange that the most shocking sound of all is a militaristic bass riff on "Silent Time of Earth".
For an album composed almost entirely on synthesizers, the textures are remarkably downy, perhaps too much so for listeners accustomed to having some sort of abrasive counterpoint. I'm not sure there's a single kick drum or hi-hat on the record. It's an immersive experience, but one that must be consumed in a specific manner. Like the Microphones' The Glow, Pt. 2, Hidden Lands demands to be heard on headphones. In the wild, the album drifts off as a cumulous cloud, even though close listens reveal how the vocals are almost the only thing that exists in the center space. Thanks to intricate stereo panning, the instruments sound like they're conversing with one another from across the room, dodging in and out of the mix as percussion fills in spaces in the left channel that synths leave on the right. It's no wonder that they need eight musicians to tour this thing. And it's true that it's tougher to find a way in here than it is with more explicitly escapist sounds. But if you're intent on total engagement, it's also tougher to find a way out.
