The anonymity trick may have helped Unknown Mortal Orchestra gain notoriety at the outset, but it soon became the least interesting thing about them. Their self-titled debut was a wonderful record that lived up to the promise of early singles "Ffunny Ffriends" and "How Can U Luv Me". And the more we got to know Ruban Nielson, the more compelling he became; an outspoken, opinionated frontman, and, even rarer in the indie rock realm, a truly badass guitar player as well. The overall picture ended up leaving more to the imagination than secrecy: How would UMO sound with a bigger production budget? Would Nielson devote more attention to his guitar heroism than his songwriting? While there's no need for those two qualities to be in conflict, II eschews the greatness within its grasp whenever it pits them against one another. The result is a record that's equally remarkable and frustrating, split between incredible pop songs and turgid guitar noodling with very little middle ground.
Let's start with the good stuff, since that's what II does. Within the first four songs, Nielson reiterates what helped Unknown Mortal Orchestra transcend simple time-stamped pastiche: his handsomely scuffed vocals and inventive melodies, and a rhythmic vocabulary that draws equally and naturally from psych rock, hard funk, and soul. It's the work of an assured craftsman with a preferred set of sonic parameters, and shows off the band's development in a lucid, loose fashion. UMO's lo-fi sizzle and compression gave it the feel of an artifact, a lost treasure transmitted through decades of overdubbed tapes. II isn't a big budget affair, and Nielson still handles everything except the drums. The result is a surprisingly minor but welcome upgrade in fidelity that makes II sound more lived-in than pre-damaged, like a worn pair of jeans or an unmade bed.
Such forlorn images are hardly coincidental considering the despondent lyrical bent early on in the record. "From the Sun" and "Swim and Sleep (Like A Shark)" are compositionally challenging and rewarding, like they're trying to see just how many notes and chord changes can fit into a verse and still stick in your head. But they're given to the startling thoughts of a mind that's ditched the Deadhead vibes of his debut in favor of exploring all the colors of the feel bad rainbow: "Isolation can put a gun in your hand," Nielson sings on the former, and the latter's chorus serves a suicide metaphor that takes as many odd turns as its backing melody. Even the soulful simmer of "So Good at Being in Trouble" doesn't come off as bravado-- not when the attendant lyric is "so bad at being in love."
It's an impressive start that heralds a curious bit of sequencing; starting with "The Opposite of Afternoon", II places its three longest tracks consecutively in the middle, resulting in nearly 18 minutes that put the focus squarely on Nielson's guitar playing. His skills aren't necessarily self-evident since there's little in the way of pyrotechnics; they're the kind that are more impressive when you can see his hands move and witness how he fits interesting chord inversions, walking riffs, and quick vamps into a pop structure. Without the visual element, there's little to latch onto, and while the nifty riffs of "...Opposite" are attention-grabbing, they constitute the last hook we hear for some time. "No Need for a Leader" goes for a brisk, head-down six-minute jog, which at least is preparation for "Monki", whose seven minutes pass with hardly a memorable moment. You could take the droning instrumental of the subsequent "Dawn" as an audio metaphor; the momentum of II has pretty much flatlined by that point.
It's a tough patch to endure, taking up nearly half of the record, and yet by the end it feels like the right call. II starts and finishes on strong notes, making it easy to revisit, and leaving the midsection as an isolated affair that might grow on you. If "Monki" and "No Need for a Leader" were distributed more evenly, II might come off more scattershot than it really is. In a way, the sequencing speaks to the curmudgeonly streak Nielson has shown, and aligns with the record's themes of exhaustion and depression by channeling massive amounts of energy into relatively short bursts while being subjected to long expanses of aimlessness. Perhaps Nielson's own ambitions don't align with external expectations of how to follow a promising, lo-fi debut. When II is truly on, it's proof that great albums aren't the sole measure of a great band, a subtle advance that puts Unknown Mortal Orchestra right back where they started: something of a mystery, but one that will certainly be interesting going forward.
