Local Natives
Gorilla Manor
Rating: 2.5/5.0
Label: Infectious Records
If we’re not there already, the superabundance of the admittedly ill-defined psych-folk subgenre is swiftly approaching. You know the type – flanneled, well-bearded singers amassing ethereal harmonies and fairy tale guitars, playing twangy fiddles (Band of Horses) and sometimes barely whispering their lovelorn libretto (Iron & Wine).
Sometimes it all comes together so well we remember why we continue to manufacture the acoustic guitar (Fleet Foxes). But at this point, it seems like the scene has no more ground to tread – it feels like only yesterday we were getting all excited about these new sounds, and now the formally idiosyncratic works of Devendra or the Dodos sound oddly familiar – and not nearly as exciting as they once did.
None of this, of course, has stopped Local Natives, a folky, Los Angeles-based quintet who’ve recently been spotted infiltrating buzz-blogs and signing to the indie-credtastic Frenchkiss Records. Their debut, Gorilla Manor, although never not pretty, does substantially little to solve the stymied progress of psych-folk’s creative growth.
The album opens with “Wide Eyes,” the whole band doing the Yeasayer thing with high-reaching vocals, stadium rat-tat-tat drums and just a dash of psychedelia. “Airplanes” ends up being an incredibly traditional love song, marked by tight violins and wordy lyrics (“I did not know you as well / As my father knew you / Every question you took the / Time to look it up in the / Encyclopedia.“) “Sun Hands” comes packed with a thoroughly intimidating mid-chorus breakdown, withdrawing everything but the hyperactive drums and a frothing, death-stomp harmony, which is followed by a jangly, electrified thrash-rock rip-roar, ending up being the most exciting thing on the entire record. Naturally, that gives way to “World News,” a return to delicate, Fleet Fox-ed folk that honestly sounds like it could have been an alternate take for “White Winter Hymnal.”
Gorilla Manor continues at that same gauzy pace until its end, and the same identifications pop up throughout. A little Fleet Foxes here, a little Band of Horses there and a pinch of Neutral Milk Hotel OG kudos sprinkled up and down. The compositions do have a little more brawn to them, and they do mutate a little bit more (mid-instrumental reprises, piano half-interludes… you know the kind) than the average whisp-folk song, but it’s a minor diversion at best. It’s also nearly a full hour long; almost every track shanghais its way into four-minute territory and considering the distinct lack of great songs, you wonder if a much better album lies within at about 35 minutes.
None of these gripes will stop the singles from getting onto next week’s episode of “Chuck;” they’re perfectly serviceable and undeniably pretty folk songs. But the ingredients are so familiar at this point that you wonder if any album that sounds like this will ever sound fresh again – if it is possible, Local Natives are certainly not the solution.
by Luke Winkie
