Supposedly The Decemberists’ rock opera, there’s minimal rocking on
this slow-paced, folk-pop concept album—more a prolonged saga of
tongue-twister lyrics, dead babies and 19th-century newlyweds. With
their last few releases, The Decemberists seem to be moving further
from the catchy, verbose pop they made their name on, to a more
cerebral, inaccessible language of literary epics. While the album is
probably fun live, it’s not quite catchy or flowing enough to hold up
as a recording of a musical, but the songs don’t stand alone, either.
Give me corncrakes and poisonous wildflowers, but give it to me with
bouncy banjos and accordions.
This article appears in May 7-13, 2009.