There are an infinite number of sounds. There's a virtually endless selection of words. There's an impossible to quantify number of ways in which the two can be combined. Yet most songwriters work with a relatively finite musical lexicon, so it's amazing the breadth and variety of songs they've come up with, crafted almost entirely from the familiar.
Needless to say, there's something quite familiar about nearly everything on Vancouver-based Octoberman's second album Run From Safety, from the general-- the mournful sound of the lonesome trumpet, the rough buzz of the harmonica, the hum of an organ, the thrill of the rapidly strummed electric guitar, Marc Morrissette's affected, artificially wizened, and world-weary vocals-- to the specific (insert indie-rock mainstay here).
Against all odds, however, the disc adds up to more than the sum of its relatively unadventurous indie-rock (North) Americana parts. You've heard it all before, but the disc feels right just the way it is. Indeed, the upside of Morrissette's combo of the conventional and the ambitious is that you're not always sure where each song is going even within such a relatively tried and true framework.
Run From Safety also finds Morrissette stretching out from Octoberman's previous These Trails Are Old and New, finding room for many of the quirks that buoyed his previous band Kids These Days. "By the Wayside" begins a syncopated dirge, suddenly shifts into a spare blues pulse, then ends on a manic rock note. "Once in a Blue" features a similarly loopy arrangement, too edgy, agitated, and weird to count as folk, even if that's largely where Morrissette is coming from. The lovely "Chasing Ambulances" and the album's title track find Octoberman firmly in earnest Bright Eyes-land, the latter building in power despite its simplicity, culminating in an appropriately majestic organ fadeout.
There are further pleasant surprises to be had in the woozy ballad "Elbow Room", whose twisting guitar and horn melodies perfectly complement Morrissette's down-to-earth vocal anchor. "Breath of Sunshine" and "Impossible Way" recall Calexico's wide open spaces balladry, but just when you think the album's taken a turn toward the campfire, the quirks return in force with the proggy twang of "Cisco Kid". "Shit Just Falls Apart" could be Stephen Malkmus at his loosest.
But again, those similarities to likeminded peers and other inspirations rarely come off nearly as distracting as they could have. They're charming as much as anything else, giving the album a welcome well-worn quality, like an old wool sweater you pull right on to ward off a cold day, even though it itches around the collar and smells a little musty. Even better, there's a promising hint of greatness simmering beneath Morrissette's more modest surface. So if the sleeper Run From Safety isn't exactly must-hear, there's a sneaking sense that Morrissette may find a way to connect to a wider audience soon enough.
