Since his relatively bare-boned 2001 debut Halve the Light, Paul Brill's sonic palette has evolved at a dramatic rate, elevating him from a meat-and-potatoes, coffeeshop hound to full-blown studio mad scientist. Harpooner takes the next logical step after New Pagan Love Song, Brill's first self-produced, self-engineered record. Whereas New Pagan grafted computer glitches onto a warm acoustic medium, Harpooner completes the transformation to bionic singer-songwriter. Although the phlegmatic Brill's never been one to slap you in the face with a riveting melody, here his stoicism's enabled further by studio tinkering that's often at odds with his song's stripped-down core.
Opener "Consanguine" promptly sets the standard for Harpooner's wandering, amorphous soundscapes. Brill can barely utter a phrase before he's engulfed by a hodgepodge of swirling horns, woodwinds, mandolins, and percussion. The use of so many sounds over such a weak framework deflates any attempt at a buildup, sabotaging the the intended payoff of Brill's deadpan chorus, "All I want is nothing."
Attention to atmosphere isn't always a misstep though. The brooding "That's the Way" shuffles through expansive symbol crashes and tom-tom beats, the metallic effect on Brill's vocals conjuring the misanthropy of Thom Yorke's sonically and emotionally bleak The Eraser. While Harpooner relies heavily on such understated songwriting, it's not without immediate moments. Standout "Paris Is On" sports the album's lone anthemic chorus, as well as a clearly defined verse-chorus-verse structure. Brill even shows flashes of conventional Elliott Smith-styled indie folk, peppering the psychologically dark closer "And So to Sleep..." with catchy, Beatles-esque hooks.
Added up, however, these peaks can't make up for protracted stretches of languid experimentation for experimentation's sake. Even more frustrating about Brill's eclectic instrumentation is how he fails to expand stylistically. Every song is vanilla indie pop; the mandolins don't make anything sound more psychedelic, and the brass and woodwinds don't add anything another piano part couldn't. While Harpooner testifies to Brill's talents, his aesthetic nods to Talk Talk or Elliott Smith can't cover up his lack of a grand, artistic gesture.
