Homesickness hurts a lot less if you get really high and start shooting the breeze with the morning wind. "Transatlanticism" isn't just the title of a Death Cab record; psychedelia can be prayerful without white-robed choirs. These are the lessons of The Earlies' debut album, These Were the Earlies, a deliriously ambitious record packed with neo-psych lullabies and swooning choruses.
The record, which was compiled from a handful of selections off the band's first five EPs (hence the title), sets its sights eight miles high with opener "In the Beginning", which boasts hymn-like harmonies that recall the Beach Boys' Smile opener, "Our Prayer". But this isn't a teenage symphony to God: The Earlies just want to be taken home-- wherever that may be. Forgive them for not being too clear on where home is: Half the band is from West Texas, while the other hails from Manchester, England. The result is music that crosses borders as easily as its performers.
One caveat: The Earlies aren't "making everything new," as a man's voice intones during a collage-based, Willy Wonka-worthy freakout in "One of Us Is Dead". Their sound is filtered through the influence of countless indie psych-pop groups, most notably Mercury Rev. Think big, sweeping production, replete with bassoons and choirlike harmonies, and of course, the frail vocals of a stoned-sounding naïf. But whereas other recent up-and-comers (I won't name names if it's okay with The Polyphonic Spree) lack variety, and too closely ape their influences, The Earlies don't tie themselves to one particular sound: Sleepier tracks like "Slow Man's Dream" and "Low" manage to resemble the lunar chillout of Air or Manitoba, and set the band apart from their acid-friendly peers.
With perverse abandon, The Earlies luxuriate in enough music history to make even the most bullshit-averse scribe reluctantly bust out his "meta" prefix. There's "A Day in the Life" in the news-reading of "One of Us Is Dead". There's "The Star-Spangled Banner" in "Bring It Back Again" ("O can you see by the early light"). Even album standout "The Devil's Country" has a brass section just a few neighing saxamophones away from the USC marching band's "Iron Man", as singer Brandon Carr announces, "Your march in time is just a shot away," like a man searching for not just home, but shelter. Additionally, if the title of "Wayward Song" makes you think of Kansas, you're in luck-- amid a floating piano ballad buoyed by "I Got You Babe" strings and computerized belches, Carr tells a son to "carry on." Yes, fucking Kansas!
Nevertheless, The Earlies' ample cleverness gives them personality, and their sumptuous soundscapes offer a reason to keep pushing play. Even when their lyrics are banal ("It's all right, my baby" from "Morning Wind"), the music rarely fails to provide more twists than an M. Night Shyamalan ending. The album follows moments of quiet melancholy with frenetic orchestral crescendos, spiraling vocal harmonies, atonal noise and whatever else is handy. Sure, The Earlies could stand to employ their kitchen sink a bit more judiciously, but for the most part, they reach their lofty goals.
In the tradition of mind-expanding music since Syd Barrett, however, These Were The Earlies poses more questions than answers. The narrator never finds his home (though Carr repeats "take me home" so often amid the escalating swirl and whoosh of "Morning Wind" that it becomes more chant than hook). In the closing track, "Dead Birds", he reprises the opening song's call to Mother Mary, but discovers only that "time is free for the man who sleeps inside the glow," whatever the hell that means. Given the band's transatlantic proclivities, though, I'm guessing home is Atlantis. Or a water bong. Whichever is closer.
