Indie Trends: Warblin’ (May 2011)
By Chris Polley
Singing is for chumps. Whether you do it nice and clean like a silky pop star or whether you do it throatily and strained like a dirty rock star, it’s played out by now. It’s obvious and it’s expected, but warblin’ is not. Warblin’ (yes, this author would argue that the apostrophe-infected gerund is necessary so as to emphasize the antiestablishment nature of the beast) is something real artists do when their pitch and tone isn’t as important as the texture and WTF-factor of their voice, especially in the context of their band’s underlying instrumentation. And I’m not just talking about any off-the-beaten-path vocalist that tries their hand at the world of strange, such as Antony Hegarty or Björk, as they clearly can wail their way out of the proverbial paper bag without much effort.
The warblers discussed herein, conversely, may indeed possess the ability to hit piercing notes or shape whole dimensions with a single caterwaul, but the rough edges of their throats and the inherently signature qualities of their fellow musicians disallow them to be firmly lumped in with your average and above-average group of mic-handlers. They are a part of a band before they are their own person, and their warblin’ accounts for that kind of messy yet admirable unity.
Gang Gang Dance “MindKilla” Eye Contact [4AD]
Let us first begin with one of the bigger revelations in the indie landscape over the past few years: the New York group Gang Gang Dance, who have attempted to break beyond the Blonde Redhead sycophant (and when they weren’t doing that, general experimental electronica meandering) role, and may have finally succeeded with their latest full-length Eye Contact. Here the quintet seems to have officially congealed into a cohesive unit with a mission, but arguably most notably, with a bonafide leader lost in the mix of the pulsing electro-haze in Lizzi Bougatsos. She warbles in a way that both flows nicely in and out of the vast layers of synths and hi-hat-heavy percussion and manages to jump out during curious and unpredictable moments across the record. The warble melts sometimes into a breathy suspense between giant twisted pop melodies, allowing the rest of GGD’s one-of-a-kind sound (which has at this point converged the Blonde Redhead artsy emotiveness with shiny electro booms and bangs that inspire two-stepping, not pretentious noise analysis) to fill out in front of her, but then when needed, to shake things up, fires on all cylinders into the foreground in almost a shrieking growl, but never so much so that her vocal notes overtake the band’s togetherness.
Okkervil River “Wake and Be Fine” I Am Very Far [Jagjaguwar]
That kind of free-form genre-bending might on the surface seem to be the best kind of setting for an inimitable warble to glide easily through without worry about upsetting convention too much, but a simultaneously bombastic and modest band from Texas proves this theory wrong with gusto. Okkervil River’s newest offering, I Am Very Far, in many ways is a very traditional indie-folk record, albeit with enough swagger and awkward tension to confuse and alienate as many as it grabs a hold of. Leading man Will Sheff has warbled his way across dusty acoustic-based balladry for six albums now, but never has he let himself get as lost in his band’s cacophony as much as he does here. Obviously taking a cue from the wild critical success of their 2007/2008 back-to-back theatrically-themed records The Stage Names and The Stand Ins, the melodies are strong and the instrumentation is dense, but unlike those hallmark releases, Sheff seems to be taking a step back from the spotlight. It’s as if he’s once again taking his record’s name overly literally, wondering what it would sound like for a second if he didn’t let his warble take center stage and rather ran out into a canyon and hollered along like a drunken gaffer while his bandmates played first fiddle, carrying the rhythm of the songs past his lungs’ aching and his lyrical gymnastics.
Wild Beasts “Albatross” Smother [Domino]
Not every warbler has to sound crazy or inebriated, though, even if said states of mind are earned or justified emotionally through their tireless backing bands. Sometimes they can do it quietly and prettily, right along with stately piano tickles and smooth bubbling bass lines, like England’s Wild Beasts do so elegantly. Unlike Gang Gang Dance and Okkervil River, these minimal popsters got noticed right out of the gate with their 2008 debut Limbo, Panto and their quick follow-up, 2009’s Two Dancers. The praise has just continued with their recently dropped Smother too, and yet I honestly haven’t batted an eyelash until this latest effort, and I believe it was only because two of the more forceful warblers demanded I pay attention to their tactics first before I was treated to something a little more subtle and slight. Hayden Thorpe lets his vibrato fly on just about every other lyric, but he does it with such restraint and control that it’s hardly ever going to overshadow the off-kilter angularity of the tiny descants skittering playfully yet somberly right alongside. Without close listen it may come off as indulgent or overly precious even, but when given full attention, just like the exotic antics of GGD or the sea chanty histrionics of Okkervil River, the sincerity and power leaks crashes through in waves.
Warblin’ isn’t just enacted to give reverence to the unity of a group while retaining boasting rights for the person with the spotlight aimed at their mouth. And it also isn’t (or at least shouldn’t be) just thrown in to give your band a moody edge compared to the status quo of pop sheen or rock magnanimousness. It’s best saved for the records where the voice of the group isn’t determined solely by the voice of the singer, but rather of how the distinct attributes of the singer can flutter effortlessly into the beautiful weirdness of the guitars and the keys, or the thick smorgasbord of strings and effects. Sing if you want to communicate; warble if you want to connect.
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Photo credit to Lori Bailey @ Prefix