Most casual listeners, and more than a few attentive folk, might consider Hem a one-note band. Yes, more often than not they are slow and sonorous and prone to the sort of overly dramatic swooning associated with silent film actresses, but they strike these poses skillfully. That doesn't make listening to an hour's worth of such posing in one setting any easier, though. If you're not in the mood, the group's attempts to establish this painstaking beauty and emotional heft will grate very quickly. For those in the audience hoping for a little more variety in Hem's diet, Funnel Cloud is the album for you. In addition to offering generous helpings of the usual Hem fare, the group delve deeper into the country side of countrypolitan. They even up their tempo from time to time, which is a nice change of pace for a group prone to drowning every song they touch in a gallon of ether. There's no doubt that it's the group's most accomplished album-- unfortunately, it's also their most disappointing.
I imagine most folks would save the "most disappointing" appellation for the group's second album, Eveningland. It's overblown, over-orchestrated, bombastic, ponderous, portentous, and all that jazz. It's what Hem does best, and it's what makes the album great. At their best, Hem lay the syrup on thick, and they give themselves over to that sticky bittersweetness just enough. The melodies bloom like flowers breaking through the early spring frost, the orchestral backing swells and ebbs with tidal inevitability, and throughout it all, Sally Ellison's pristine plain-as-Jane voice acts as a tether that keeps this bombast from blowing away. Here's the rub: Despite the hokey grandeur of Hem's usual MO, it's at their most overblown that Hem sounds most true to itself.
On Funnel Cloud, the strength of these grandiose moments is dispelled by these out-of-character, down-to-earth moments, and it casts both the new and the old in unflattering lights. Which is to say that while Ellison sounds at home amidst the somber piano and guitar backing of "We'll Meet Along the Way", she sounds strained and uncomfortable with the aw-shucks candor of "The Pills Stopped Working" and the awkwardly anthemic "Not California". Heart-string tugging showtunes like "Great Houses of New York" paint a beautiful, wistful portrait. The more showy arrangements of tracks like "Curtains", on the other hand, distract and detract. And this less-than-smooth style switching makes the album's modest length of forty-six minutes seem much longer than the hour-plus length of its predecessor. In this light, the title of the album's final track, "Almost Home", might be a more fitting name for this album. Ultimately, Funnel Cloud is the work of a band searching for new ways to sing. They might get where they want eventually, but, if this is any evidence, it's going to be a bumpy ride.
