It was a mere coincidence that Tindersticks' original lineup dissolved not long after their most faithful students, the National, broke overground with their third album, Alligator. But in retrospect it's hard not to view that moment as a symbolic passing of the torch, akin to proud working-class parents sending their kids off to an Ivy League school in anticipation of future success. While the National's more melodramatic take on Tindersticks' patented pop-noir balladry has landed them in hockey arenas and presidential-campaign videos, Stuart Staples and co. have been defiant in their refusal to follow their disciples' charge into the mainstream.
Since signing to Constellation and introducing a revamped lineup with 2008's The Hungry Saw and 2010's Falling Down a Mountain, Tindersticks have gradually drifted away from the string-swept epics that defined their astounding first three albums and the studious soul tones that defined the next three; by loosening up their performances, amplifying their psychedelic side, and projecting a greater degree of playfulness, they've practically become the world's most dignified jam band. While the more freewheeling approach has provided this veteran group with a renewed sense of inspiration by stretching their signature sound into uncharted territory, their first two Constellation efforts didn't yield the sort of cardiac-arresting emotional wallop that's synonymous with the Tindersticks brand. But with The Something Rain, Tindersticks strike the sweet spot between experimental sprawl and hot, bothered soul, and if it doesn't achieve the same weightiness as their 1990s-era name-making triptych, it's fully on the level of their exceptional early-2000s releases Can Our Love... and Waiting for the Moon.
Tindersticks have traditionally favored low-key opening tracks to gently lure you into their harrowing headspace, but The Something Rain effects a pronounced break from that logic with "Chocolate"-- for one, it clocks in at nine minutes, making it the lengthiest track in the band's dense catalog. More significantly, it marks a return to the spoken-word soundtrack format of their 1995 signature "My Sister", setting a short-story account of a first date to a molten acid-rock refrain that gradually erupts into a brass-blasted climax that heralds the welcome reintroduction of long-time associate Terry Edwards. And just when you start to question why such a seemingly mundane narrative warrants such an over-the-top presentation, there's a "gotcha!" denouement to the story that constitutes the band's most broadly humorous gesture to date.
In both tone and form, "Chocolate" is by far the most atypical track on The Something Rain, but its audaciousness translates into the fiery performances that follow. Where Tindersticks tend to deploy 1970s soul and R&B signifiers to cut through their albums' prevailing air of despair-- and the cheerful, cha-cha-cha strut of "Slippin' Shoes" and the gorgeously languid ballad "Come Inside" serve a similar purpose here-- Something Rain standout "Show Me Everything" uses its smoky Hammond-organ groove, shots of brass, and female backing singers to coax a masterfully intense vocal turn from Staples, with images of latex-gloved hands pressed against glass that ooze with seedy suggestion. "This Fire of Autumn" works a similar trick to equally captivating effect, but at a quickened tempo that turns more anxious with each verse/chorus pass; glockenspiels have rarely been used to such unnerving effect.
Where Staples' downcast narratives were the driving force of the band's early works, the retooled Tindersticks' power lies in their skills of arrangement; structurally, these songs don't really change once they begin, but they accrue considerable force through the layering of complementary string/horn patterns and Staples' pushing his perennially bruised croon to heightened levels of desperation. That makes the heady rush of "Frozen" all the more amazing-- though the song never breaks out of its skittering, wah-wah-accented rhythm, it still feels completely weightless and disorienting, with Staples' echo-drenched voice contorting in and out of the mix while Edwards' free-flowing horn squawks swoop in like stormy gusts of wind. And each time Staples repeats the line, "If I could just hold you," it starts to sound less like a call to a faraway lover than the predatory intimations of a stalker. It may have taken them two albums to find their proper footing with their new line-up but, with The Something Rain, Tindersticks provide a wholly convincing reminder that they are, by definition, an incendiary device.
