The post-rock collective is the hippie commune of the 21st century. "Peace, love, and empathy" has been replaced by "more peace, more love, and ornate orchestral pop music." Lately, here in the northeast, where it's been too cold to safely eat, sleep and write about music, I've felt glad to be a fan of these groups and not a member. Few things could deter me from producing transcendent avant-garde opuses; living in a farmhouse with no heat during subzero nights is one of them. Luckily, there are those who brave it, like New York-based conglomerate Stars Like Fleas, whose 21 members lurked stealthily under the indie radar in 2003.
I first heard Sun Lights Down on the Fence after an accident involving week-old pot roast gravy, in which I ruined a pair of suede shoes and what had been a perfectly good night at the theater. After scrubbing my kitchen floor and all the cabinets that had been splattered, I was too worked up to sleep, so I retreated into my headphones and tried to ignore the lingering odor. The smell of gravy took two days to lift, by which time I had thoroughly examined the wily 70-minute landscape of Sun Lights Down on the Fence. Unfortunately, my relationship with this engaging and relentlessly subtle album will be forever marred by an association with putrid pan juices, but it speaks to the band's merit that I was still able to derive such pleasure from it under those circumstances.
Aside from sporting a member for every A.D. century, the Stars Like Fleas lineup is duly impressive for its jaw-dropping genealogy: Sun Lights Down on the Fence received contributions from bands as diverse as Out Hud, Mercury Rev, Papa M, No-Neck Blues Band, and At the Drive-In, to name just a few. The group was founded in 1998 by Austin music-scene veterans Shannon Fields (producer and multi-instrumentalist) and vocalist Montgomery Knott (who formerly collaborated with Stars of the Lid). 2000's Took the Ass for a Drive saw New York-only release on the now-defunct Shimmy-Disc and is currently unavailable.
Sun Lights Down on the Fence is the fruit of two years' labor, and a ruthless attention to detail is apparent throughout. Many of the songs saunter by, content to linger in a particularly comfortable spot for minutes at a time. "On a Generous Day", the album's generously sized centerpiece, evokes Talk Talk in its slow evolution and subtle movements. Montgomery Knott's vocal delivery borrows directly from Mark Hollis, but his arrangements are much busier: Where Hollis placed curt crescendos and one-liners sporadically and perfectly throughout his songs, Knott drags a lazy legato out for minutes at a time. His vocal sheets are seemingly interminable and often mar otherwise pristine instrumental passages, sometimes plummeting into defenseless gratuity. Over the staggering denouement of "On a Generous Day", he sings, "Bending over you lightly/ Hard on/ In your ass." The song is a pained lament to a lost sexual relationship, but the words sully what is conveyed beautifully and articulately through the music alone.
Luckily, Knott's voice serves just fine as textural element, often blending delicately into the instrumental mix. The Dust Bowl melodies are scarce and fragile. Flutes, saxophones, clarinets, trumpets and bassoons share the spotlight and take frequent solos that, like the vocals, often ramble aimlessly. Songs occasionally break out into well-placed free jazz trances, which offer welcome relief from the sometimes cloying vocals. The album avoids the cheese-factor inherent in most electro-free jazz these days, which is typically performed by indie musicians who are, by nature, awkward and soulless. Some of the more amorphous sections are among the album's best moments.
Sun Lights Down on the Fence's most impressive quality is its balancing of carefully arranged electronic sounds with improvisational acoustic performances. As on The Books' stunning The Lemon of Pink, there are two types of virtuosity present: sonic manipulation and instrumental prowess. Songs dive through wormholes of thought without inhibition, but pass through intact and neatly polished. The improvised sections are tasteful and restrained, and at times feel quite intentional: Songs such as "Isabel of Lilac" and "Third Night, Wisconsin" are precognitive glimpses into the workings of the subconscious mind. Fields and Knott take the immensity of musicians and concentrate their disparate ideas into one intimate and wonderfully realized statement. It's hard to tell whether this record is the cerebral read-out of its entire populous lineup, or of two very complex minds, but the finished result is intimate and utterly beautiful.
