Great Lake Swimmers
Lost Channels
Rating: 2.0
Label: Nettwerk
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Countless music fans and critics bemoan the struggles and tragedies of a band ahead of its time; as nice as being critically appreciated is, it doesn't exactly pay the bills. But what of its little-known kin: the band that is far, far behind its time? Great Lake Swimmers is a perfect example of this hardly mentioned phenomenon. With a sound that could be described as Red House Painters fronted by someone who spent far too much time listening to 1980s British indie icons in their youth, Great Lake Swimmers could hardly be less relevant on latest album Lost Channels.
Lost Channels is an album that feels, well, lost. Aimless and sluggish, Lost is a void of energy and charisma; easily forgotten after being played, it's the type of album you put on if you're having trouble sleeping or just want to lose half an hour or so of your life and not remember how you did so. Perhaps the album wouldn't have this effect if Tony Dekker's vocals were less ethereal and more grounded in humanity, as his breathy delivery has a tendency to go in one ear and out the other. On "Concrete Heart," the melody is so slight you could be forgiven for not even noticing it at all, while the minimal percussion and "atmospheric" guitars don't exactly help spice things up.
Despite attempts by the band to sprinkle their songs with more eclectic instruments, such as mandolin on "Palmistry" or banjo and fiddle on "The Chorus in the Underground," these flourishes feel less like genuine attempts at being different and more like half-assed exercises in emphasizing the country part of their alt-country leanings. Even the tracks that feel like they might eventually go somewhere, such as the jangly "She Comes to Me in Dreams," stall under their own lack of momentum. Looking for some glimmer of hope in the lyrics is likewise a crapshoot, especially in the pre-chorus from "She Comes to Me in Dreams," with its awkward chanting of "guess you are asleep now/ Goodnight for real now."
The album's failure is a pity in a sense, even more so since merging the eclecticism of a group like Red House Painters with the more jangly components of the early indie movement in England hasn't really been explored. In the hands of a bright young band, the results could be fantastic instead of irrelevant and out of time. Great Lake Swimmers just seem bored by their own existence on Lost Channels, and the listener suffers for it. Since the album isn't a total abomination and is merely worthless and slight, it isn't too much to imagine that one day someone somewhere will bring this idea to life.
by Morgan Davis