Grizzly Bear rocks. There are no two ways around it. They're so deliciously weird, so totally different, yet still entirely listenable that it makes me want to clap my hands and jump up and down. Then it occurs to me that that would be totally lame.
There's something decidedly haunting about their music; make no mistake about it. It's not exactly the fist-pumping shit you put on before a tennis match or a heist, but damn if it doesn't feel good in that no-matter-what-I-do-my-legs-are-moving-of-their-own-accord. Not to say that it's dance-y, by any means, but simply that they're the sort of band that slowly seeps into your ears, crawls down your external auditory meatus, slips past your ear drum, and then fucking explodes in your hypothalamus.
Their latest album, Veckatimest, is truly an experience. Southern Point, the opening track, just kind of drops in on you--jangling guitar strings and taps on the Chris Bear's ride cymbals feels like more of a middle-of-the-album slowdown type song, until around 1:00. The guitar and drums slowly build, pause, and then come crashing out. Never once does Dan Rossen stop his fingers from performing their intricate dance around his guitar's fretboard. He lets loose with "in the end/you'll never find me now" sounding like he's trapped in your shower upstairs while simultaneously pouring your mother a glass of Shiraz, telling her that she'll never "come to him." I think this speaks for Grizzly Bear as a whole--their music is truly a conversation with the listener. Sure, it's torturous at times, but it's because they actually mean it.
And then you meet the alter ego of Grizzly Bear. Fittingly enough, the second track on the album, Two Weeks, gives you just that. When I saw them perform last year, I was most struck by the fact that Chris Bear, their drummer and producer, was perhaps the most unique and musical of the lot. Having been a drummer for many years--and a depraved egoist for many more--I've always had a beef with the fact that drummers, while entirely integral, never have as much creative joy as the other instrumentalists. Chris Bear proves me wrong. Two Weeks is probably Grizzly Bear's best song, and Bear is more than a minor influence on that. His drums dance an odd-military march meets art-house syncopation. It's as though he learned to play on pots and pans strewn around the kitchen, and adapted this model for the kit. At their show, he played without a kick drum. I was agog. The kickdrum, the literal heartbeat of the set, and he managed to do without. Beautiful. Anyway--Two Weeks is thus foundation-ed by Bear's snare chops. The roofing of this metaphorical palace is simple enough--a synth made to sound as a slightly flat and tinny piano, followed by a beautifully minimal Rhodes organ providing support columns. (I'm sick of the house metaphor.) But, but, but--the most fucking important and glaringly obvious aspect of Grizzly Bear's music are the voices. Two Weeks is sung, actually and completely sung, by Ed Droeste, founding member and lead man extraordinaire. His voice is a mellow and haunting baritone, almost burlesque-meets-opera. Droeste also does part of his backup vocals, providing a fascinating counterpoint to his voice during the pre-chorus. He is introduced, met and matched by a ghostly choir of Rossen, Bear, and Chris Taylor (multi-instrumentalist...I've seen him play bass, guitar, clarinet, and just sing). They harmonize so fucking well. It's really a jaw-dropping experience. Despite the cliche of admitting cliche, this band makes me want to cry I love them so much. (I forget which one, but one of them admitted to a lot of stupid fights over harmonies during the making of Yellow House.)
That statement of amour may seem trite in the arms-crossed crowd of Indie music, but there's no denying that a band like Grizzly Bear, with a song like Two Weeks, is at once magnificent, heraldic, and simply sublime. They're impossible to label; maybe that's what draws me back.
The rest of the album returns to type-A Grizzly Bear, heavily reverberated guitars and the Dan-Ed duo, softly beating drums and dark tones out of the bass, until, like in All We Ask, the paint is finally thrown on the canvas and the stage lights up. It's at once folky and kind of hardcore. There are other highlights on the album (the pulsating, driving beat and old-school sci-fi tones of Ready, Able; the Spanish-guitar-influenced About Face, and of course; While You Wait for the Others, one of my favorite songs of all time), but more than anything, it's a stellar album in that you have to sit down and really listen to it. It's good for reading to, writing to, thinking to, and grooving to, but it's not the type of thing you can go all the way with while you are driving or trying to entertain guests. Sometimes the folksy and depressing tunes found in the middle of the album can drag a bit if proper attention isn't paid them, and sometimes Grizzly Bear just doesn't fit the mood. But fear not: after your first listen, there's nothing that would fit the mood besides Veckatimest.
(What exactly that mood is, I couldn't say. Just buy the fucking album already.)
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