Simple and modest, Joel Thibodeau's music is more versatile than it lets on. On first listen, his second album as Death Vessel may seem passive, even flat-- just competent, non-descript folk-rock. Give it time, though, and Nothing Is Precious Enough For Us proves more intriguing. Thibodeau's un-flashy songs dip into many genres-- country, jazz, bluegrass, even hard rock-- with a subtlety that makes their range easy to miss.
But then almost everything about Thibodeau's music is easy to miss, due to the hypnotic appeal of his voice. A flowing, siren-like croon, it has garnered attention for how feminine it sounds. But even more stunning is its effortless power. Thibodeau rarely varies his style or cadences, often staying locked in step with each melody, yet his singing is consistently striking. Though his enunciation is a bit blurry and he's slightly buried in the mix, his voice shines like a high-beam through fog, more emotive instrument than literal communicator.
Even when you can hear what Thibodeau is singing, his meaning is elusive. Characters and descriptions hide and disappear, with restraint that seems fearful of language. "I am versed in silence," he purrs in "Block My Eye", a tune that pulls back whenever it could step forward. Later, "Bruno's Torso" offers a hero who's "bad at words" and deals in "unspoken promises," a "mantis without a prayer." Even on the bouncy "Obadiah in Oblivion", Thibodeau sounds cryptically shy: "If halvsies are equal to none/ And nothing is precious enough for us/ Then we are none, perfectly none."
Musically, the album is similarly restrained. Most songs have simple melodies with sparse accents, a mix akin to late-period Camper Van Beethoven. The best are gentle and meticulous, such as the fading "Peninsula" and the banjo-driven hymn "Fences Around Field". But Thibodeau can muscle up too-- on "Exploded View", his forceful swing culminates in a noisy guitar solo. A final climax comes on "Circa", whose swaying melody recalls Will Oldham circa Ease Down the Road.
That conclusive tune would be a great ending to Nothing Is Precious Enough For Us, but Thibodeau falters by adding the slight "Belt of Foam", dragged down by a smarmy trumpet solo. He recovers immediately on "Taken Up Again", an instrumental that revisits previous melodies in winding-down, ready-for-bed mode. Subtracting his voice from that final song is a risky move, but an appropriate one for an album that suggests literal words are no match for suggestive sound.
