My due diligence as a reviewer led me to finding out that the Phantom Band released two records in the mid-1990's... and that they are not the same Phantom Band releasing Checkmate Savage. Which really came as a shock, since I can't remember another band since probably Elbow that sounded more mature and fully-formed on their debut. But whereas the latter's Asleep In The Back came on the heels of 10 years of formula-tweaking and bad breaks, Checkmate Savage evolved from winding jam sessions caught on tape by Paul Savage of the Delgados in a nuanced production that isn't too far off from what some would call "dad rock". If your dad happened to have Neu! or Beefheart records stashed somewhere, that is.
It cuts both ways, though. While Phantom Band play with the assurance of a band far into its career, at times, their approach is so restrained and tasteful that you almost wish they'd show their age more. But it's hard not to sound a little wise beyond your years with the kind of voice flexed by Richard Anthony, falling somewhere on the brogue wave between the frontmen of the Twilight Sad and Frightened Rabbit. But Anthony is more likely to invoke spectral beings in a voice that's got a leathery quality of being both tough and yet luxurious at the same time. "The Howling" works itself into a nice pocket with well-placed handclaps and a ringing, cheerful guitar refrain that could have easily been the result of a Keef goof-- the band claims that part of their jam sessions would involve as much parody as woodshedding. It's easy to imagine Anthony elbow-on-knee, fist-on-chin, so commanding and steady is his guidance over the aerodynamic arrangement. It's an undeniably potent beginning, and a welcome dose of muscle in a milieu that often stripmines: comparatively, Deerhunter's "Nothing Ever Happened" might sound as thin as, well, Bradford Cox.
But muscle does become something of a necessity, since despite their Teutonic underpinnings, the Phantom Band don't exactly groove (like, say, Fujiya & Miyagi) so much as they clamp down and lock in. "Left Hand Wave" hitches the gold standard for 21st-century kraut (Radiohead's "The National Anthem") to a forceful, bucking bronco rhythm while "Crocodile" is the all-encompassing Stereolab encomium that incorporates an assortment of home-made percussion into a bristling, upward space race.
But some of the more strictly rhythmic numbers invariably fall flat when they merely dabble in songcraft-- "Burial Sounds" never quite extricates itself from a swampy, tom-lead beat while the hip-swiveling chorus of "Folk Song Oblivion" is a welcome respite from the strangely tuneless Drop-D grunge of the verses. In a record full of big songs, "Island" stands as the obvious money shot, a near-nine-minute séance of later Talk Talk. On its face, it passes the looks test, an inky guitar figure echoed by Anthony's spiritual invocations, and later the rest of the band in a ragged chorale. But it lacks a sense of real movement, instead rousting about in its pewter casing.
But while Checkmate Savage isn't exactly a record that lacks levity, but the end of "Throwing Bones" does cast its surroundings in a different light, particularly after "Island". Taken as a whole, it's a chipper diversion, and then you get Checkmate's biggest right hook, a near-barbershop tidal pool of vocals that eventually bridge the gap towards the resigned yet optimistic sundown closer "The Whole Is on My Side". Does it work? In a way, not really-- it sounds like something of a send-up of TV on the Radio's "Ambulance" (particularly the lower "ba-doo-ba-doo's"), and while that's a group that could certainly use a pinprick in their side, it's something of a distraction on its own merits. But it does remind the listener about what their most compatible predecessor, the Beta Band, as intriguing as they were infuriating. The Phantom Band has a vice grip on their aesthetic-- in the future, they'd be well-served to know when to let go.
