After dropping their gloriously goofy and endlessly inventive 2003 LP Who Will Cut Our Hair When We're Gone?, the Unicorns became extinct. Following a brief resurrection as Th' Corn Gangg, a live side project in which Unicorns songs were recast as backing tracks for MCs like Subtitle and Busdriver, multi-instrumentalist Nick Diamonds and drummer J'aime Tambeur announced they'd soldier on without guitarist Alden Penner (née Ginger) as Islands. To prove it wasn't just another one of their bat-shit crazy antics, they leaked two mp3s: "Abominable Snow", an epic about surviving a yeti sighting, and "Flesh", which revealed a sweaty, sexy side to Diamonds' and Tambeur's songwriting. Both songs were outstanding and, just as important, sounded like the work of the Unicorns. (In fact, they were live staples in the band's last days.) But when Diamonds explained they wouldn't be on the new album and then gushed to Pitchfork about how the band's record would be, of all things, inspired by Paul Simon's Graceland, it was anybody's guess as to what Return to the Sea would actually sound like.
It turns out that, while Diamonds' Graceland references weren't just snarcastic pranks, Return to the Sea is a sprawling, gorgeous collection of pop songs that draws from disparate sources such as calypso, country, and hip-hop. The record also relies more heavily on organic sounds and structure than the Unicorns' LP did: Where Who Will Cut Our Hair rewarded listeners with unexpected eruptions in the middle of songs or flat-out rockers dropped off a sonic cliff into plaintive minor chords, Islands present a more linear approach in their arrangements. Songs like album opener "Swans (Life After Death)" propel forward, picking up steam to the point of bursting. Only after "Swans" has marinated for nearly seven minutes, for example, does Tambeur abandon his shuffling and stuttering beats for cathartic, straight-ahead drumming. Islands' charm, then, is all wrapped up in the richness of the production: unusual instrumentation and tiny flourishes create dense compositions that demand repeated listening.
For example, on "Rough Gem"-- a song so insidiously infectious that trepanation may be the only way to get it out of your head-- the main riff is begun by an understated keyboard, picked up midway by plucked violin strings, and completed by a second, more cartoonish synthesizer. All the while, Diamonds cracks puns on his name, declaring "I'm a girl's best friend/ Can you cut?/ I can cut!/ I'm a rough gem."
"Volcanoes", on the other hand, starts by layering meandering lap steel, intermittent triangle, and violins. By the chorus, those violins shed their hillbilly act to become soaring and angelic, like a melodramatic score. Against the strings, Diamonds strums chords and croons in his strained timbre, "We washed our mouths at the riverbed/ When we noticed something glowing/ It was growing/ Things are going to change," before predicting a catastrophic volcano blast that melts Alaska and turns Argentina into some kind of ice land. The lyrics are ridiculous but fun, and "Volcanoes" fittingly features the album's most explosive finale, in which all the instrumental elements that have wandered in and out of the song converge for the song's climax.
Return to the Sea is a case of Diamonds and Tambeur yanking up their anchor and setting sail for new waters, enjoying the freedoms of exploration and discovery. At no point in the record does it feel as if Diamonds is settling into any one genre or style-- hardly a surprise from this shape-shifting songwriter. It won't be a shock if, say, Diamonds and Tambeur announce 18 months from now that Islands is kaput and they're kickstarting another new band. And who really cares? As long as they continue to write songs as striking and immediate as the batch on Return to the Sea, their fans will follow them anywhere.
