Before I, as a candid and loyal servant of the musically insatiate, etch in stone my clumsy wisdom, the Patron Saint of Objectivity prays I first make a confession: I don't generally get along with concept albums. My first reaction is typically one of disappointment filtered through indignity: Hey, don't tell me what to make of your music. F.Y.I., I happen to enjoy the tabula rasa privilege of formulating my own basis for analysis and drawing up my own, personal associations for your music. I want to be the judge of this, and I certainly don't want you to be the judge of how it is I should render my judgment. Then I grow up. Some.
The Marionette and the Music Box is, yes, a concept album about a damned marionette and a music box. How do I know this? Because I was cold-cocked in the face with it. Unwed Sailor created the album as a companion piece to Jamie Hunt's 17-plate illustrated children's book which spins the tale of our two protagonists and is included in the liner notes. The song titles double as captions to the plates, and feature such narrative-driven handles as "Meeting of the Marionette and the Music Box", "The Separation. A Hopeless Pursuit", and "The Return to Open Arms". You get the picture: all 17 of them. Which, truth be told, are a small accomplishment on their own right.
The music itself is a truncated version of previous Unwed Sailor material, which in turn was a truncated version of bassist Jonathan Ford's Roadside Monument material. Whereas earlier Unwed Sailor releases were dynamic, weaving mathy elements of guitar, bass, and drums into the sort of instrumental rock that's correctly served without lyrical accompaniment, The Marionette's formula isn't as replete. The band chose to forgo, for the first sixteen tracks, actual drumming in lieu of subtler, more softly textured percussion. Delicate guitar interplay, by turns warily ambitious and content in tone, is augmented by creaking doors, rhythmic tapping, sparse bells, organs, and chirping birds. The entire album, lacking a skeletal grounding, is light and wistful, and though it never soars it likewise never sinks.
None of the songs, save for the return-to-form closer "Jubilee", boldly stand out either in construction or accomplishment. It has its moments, but, as a testament to its cohesiveness, could veritably have been divided into one or two tracks-- and I get the feeling Jonathan and company might take umbrage to the idea of using any one cut for the purposes of, say, a mixtape. Singling out the gentle acoustics and perfect timbre of "At Peace in the Forest" is tantamount to removing your favorite minute from any Godspeed song. I suppose the heart of my concern is this: what the band could once construct emotionally in one song is spread thin over the coarse of 38 minutes, and inextricably reliant on the extra-musical elements for succeeding in its aims-- aims that, need I remind you, I did not dictate or unjustifiably fabricate.
Ultimately, I see the album as a moving away from one strength in favor of developing another. The stark, minimalist guitar work and overall atmosphere is simply a delight as background fare. While Unwed Sailor probably felt as if they were doing just the opposite, they chose to find a cure for a benign affliction, and in doing so temporarily abandoned the qualified (yet equally promising) success of earlier aspirations. Those of you reading this review in the distant future can feel free to subtract a few points from the rating for careless meddling if this turns out to have just been a pit stop, but if Unwed Sailor can break free from the fetters of accountability and move forward, all sins are forgiven. And that's where honesty will get you.
