In the middle of 2006, Midlake released The Trials of Van Occupanther, a record of Ren Faire-infused folk-pop shot through with a healthy dose of post-blues, pre-bitterness Fleetwood Mac. Van Occupanther was full of small delights and the occasional major triumph. Its charms were subtle; occasionally a shimmering melodic flourish or a shade in singer Tim Smith's earthy throat would float into the mix and really knock you out. Though it dragged a touch toward the end and sometimes felt a bit self-satisfied in its smoothness, it was a pleaser and-- because it moved them light years beyond the gooey Grandaddy-lite of their debut without much apparent effort-- seemed to promise good stuff on the bound.
At long last, we have The Courage of Others, reportedly the product of the perennial touring band's newfound obsession with the British folk of Pentangle, Fairport Convention, and the like. It was, they've said in interviews, an attempt to distance themselves from Van Occupanther, which is understandable; after three and a half years of touring behind a record, ripping it up and starting again is what you do. But there were shades of the kind of British folk they're talking about all over Van Occupanther; fewer flutes, maybe, but the same sort of compositional fussiness and hushed, dulcet tones matched with rich harmonies. And they were, virtually without exception, woven together into far better songs. Van Occupanther, low-key though it was, kept the arrangements frothy and dynamic, the tunes multifaceted and sweeping, the playing precise but limber. The Courage of Others is a step down on songcraft, atmosphere, and apparently, even self-awareness: If you're trying to distance yourself from something, you wouldn't plunge headfirst into it, would you?
Without calling too much attention to it, Van Occupanter swayed and squirmed, and as a result of this constant shift, songs rarely ended up where they started. Save the occasional flittery fingerpicked intro, the tunes on The Courage of Others take up the same languid, near-narcotic pace, and they stick with it. Van Occupanther's best songs seemed to match up a couple of disparate ideas and found ways to slowly lead one toward the other-- the prim verse melody of "We Gathered in Spring" didn't seem an easy fit with that song's gooey choral descent, but they patiently bring the two together, and the resulting payoff lent the lovely but lethargic tune some drama. There are no stakes like that with the Courage songs, no sense that things might fly off into uncharted territory. Theirs is an exceptionally polite reading of these British folk constructions, and as nearly every tune tumbles through its ornate intro, its hushed first verse, and the minor lift of its chorus, your patience wears as thin as the tunes.
It's no help that Smith, never the most expressive vocalist, sounds at times uninterested; his vocal melodies have gotten simpler to match the music, but he himself seems detached, delivering every line with the kind of passion you might reserve for courtesy calls. Lyrically, Van Occupanther's man-out-of-time treatments of honor and family were admirably antiquated, but while Courage picks up Occupanther's naturalistic bent, it lacks a thesis to tie it all together. That, I suppose, it leaves to the all-too-similar execution. With precious little exception, these songs are just so wispy, and the band's treatment of them so delicate, it turns Courage into a museum piece, stuffy, bloodless. A lot of those Britfolk cats were really hot players and there's not even that to hold onto; every performance is a few notches above adequate, but there's no bite to any of it, no intensity, precious little conveyance of emotion. I wish there were a single great song, one shining moment to point to as a beacon of hope for what's to come for these guys, but Courage just feels so monochromatic, so flatlined, even the tiniest signs of life have no power to resuscitate.
