Destroyer, Kaputt
Reviewed by: Christian Hagen
Sixteen years into one of the strangest takes on the independent aesthetic of this or any generation, Destroyer’s Dan Bejar has entered 2011 with weighty expectations made lighter by the freedom to let his imagination run freely. Bejar enjoys a cult, elder-statesman status enjoyed by few remaining bandleaders in alt-rock circles, partially because of the tenure of his underground credentials but mostly because of his do-it-yourself flair. And now, after two wildly different and well-received EPs (2009’s Bay of Pigs and 2010’s Archer on the Beach), he’s in a position rarely afforded to musicians on the precipice of success: He can do whatever he wants.
For these reasons, it shouldn’t be surprising that his ninth full-length, Kaputt, shakes free the bonds of Bowie comparisons for a much more ambient, much more mournful sound. If anything, the nine songs contained herein take in more of the abstract moments of Al Stewart than the space-aged coolness of Bowie. Jazzy electronica with lazily mumbled verses of love and loss: not surprising, considering.
What is surprising is how well Bejar’s Bohemian melancholy marries with these swirling jazz dirges, and how a style, and an artist, that could be easily criticized as pretentious or self-satisfied manages to be so emotionally fulfilling.
Bejar spends much of the album sounding distant, a lone, broken soul in the middle of a field, surrounded by grey synths and horns and quiet guitars strumming. No song exemplifies this better than the beginning of closer “Bay of Pigs (Detail).” But this track gets at the heart of what makes Kaputt so extraordinary. Bejar seems to no longer need to thrust the theatricality or manic lyrical diverges of his early albums on listeners to present his worldview, but instead he and his band paint a portrait and invite the listener in of their own volition. Listening to “Bay of Pigs” is like crawling into a cave and wondering at the beautiful drawings on the walls, only to find a group of kindred spirits dancing in the dark.
Each song on Kaputt swims on, rather than drowns in, the twinkling ambiance of the electronics, and a sweetly longing trumpet blows throughout the album. If 2001’s Streethawk: A Seduction was Destroyer’s Birth of the Cool, Kaputt is their Kind of Blue. Or maybe it’s their Bitches Brew, combining the genius of the band’s past with barely explored territories. Jazz-fusion in reverse.
But strip the noise away, beautiful though it is, and you’ll find Bejar still unmistakably there. “Blue Eyes” and “Savage Night” still evoke a night in the city with your arty poet friends, though here their wine might be making them a bit sullen. “Poor in Love” sounds like the exact bittersweet idealism of its title; true, you may not have money, but you have love. Henry Miller would have been very fond of this album.
This isn’t to say that Kaputt is perfect. Many of the songs run together, and not in an intentional “each track bleeds into the next” sort of way. There isn’t a great deal of variety in these songs, musically or tonally. Nor will it convert any who were not previously convinced of Bejar’s talent; after all, this is the same singer who’s been performing for a decade-and-a-half. To expect drastic change at this point would be foolish. It may even alienate fans of early Destroyer albums, with their fun, upbeat glam-folk artiness. Those expecting a poppier tone out of Dan Bejar will be disappointed.
But there’s a bracing honesty in Bejar’s softer performance; if anything about Kaputt is forced, I certainly can’t tell. Perhaps it’s because the focus is off his clever wordplay, or his cleverness in general, and onto the sonic landscapes the group is traversing. Perhaps it’s because the band, a lineup in constant flux for a decade and only solidified for a handful of years, sounds brilliantly together. The songs feel full without feeling overstuffed. There’s room enough for you to crawl into their cave and join the fun. Or, if you’re so inclined, crawl in, curl into a ball, and feel yourself wrapped in the warm comfort of the music. Kaputt is no surprise from one of the indie’s best kept idols. Its effect on the listener certainly is.