search for something...

search for something you might like...

Cross-terranean Post-Postmodern Tone-sick Blues Part 3 -  Iron & Wine Cook's third trip to the tainted well of modern psychedlia finds him swooning to the sublime brook-babble of Iron & Wine

Cross-terranean Post-Postmodern Tone-sick Blues Part 3 - Iron & Wine

Cook's third trip to the tainted well of modern psychedlia finds him swooning to the sublime brook-babble of Iron & Wine

by Alex V. Cook, Music Editor
first published: September, 2007

approximate reading time: minutes

Given its appearance throughout the record, I suspect Beam got a sitar for his birthday.

Iron & Wine
The Shepherd's Dog
(Sub Pop)

Now that we've seen how the recycled costumes of psychedelia wear alternately thin and brash (Devendra Banhart) and how the forces of weedy collectivism can be united in the service of rawk (Akron/Family) we are left to find what is truly psychedelic on its own. My money was on Boredoms for being the new tie-dye torch bearers to Pied Piper us into the new dawn, but I've heard a leak of Super Roots 9, and they are digging a rut. It bears remembering where psychedelic rock really came from.: folk music. The People's Music got swept up in the light shows, got weird, tuned in , dropped out and became the 70s, for better or worse, taking plain sentiment and running it through the amplifier that is Bob Dylan. The wheel of time has a roughly thirty year circumference, and while many still agree with Pete Seeger, cutting the current on Dylan lest he ruin it for everyone, we are seeing the spoke of exploded folk music coming our way in the form of Iron & Wine's Sam Beam.

Sam Beam neatly has the folk side of things sewn up, having the dubious distinction of being the only folk singer, besides Dylan, that hipsters can stand. His voice came in on a warm breeze when his demo tape became the unforeseen sensation that The Creek Drank The Cradle became. Since then, he's been slowly building his sonic arsenal, first dispensing with the hiss on Our Endless Numbered Days", adding percussion on Woman King and finally a band proper (and no band is more proper than Calexico) on In the Reins.

The Shepherd's Dog is a further refinement/development of his sound with a pulling back from the excesses of his lark with Calexico. The record is still a channel cut by the relentless force of his quiet voice, eroding a path into your thinking as it flows into your ear, but the landscape of the riverbanks are now a dense thicket of organs, piano, percussion and Beam's infinite finger-picked guitar. Also befitting the cinematic nature of a great psychedelic folk record, and Beam's day job as a film professor, the graceful subdued hoedown "Pagan Angel and a Borrowed Car" creates a perfect opening credits sequence. "White Tooth Man" follows that song right down the rabbit hole, as his falsetto multi-tracked with his close gruff whisper levitates on a darkened bed of faux Indian music. Given its appearance throughout the record, I suspect Beam got a sitar for his birthday.

Folksingers, I find, are often at a loss as to what to use to fill in the holes when they decide to expand from their skeletal songcraft. Beam employs a number of timeworn techniques: sylvan atmospherics on "Carousel", the apparently unavoidable reggae dalliance on "Wolves (Song of the Shepherd's Dog)" and smoky Doors-y, sitar-enhanced trip-blues on "Peace beneath the City." Of all these guises, the last yearly wedges in best with Beam's mix of whispered psycho-sexual nothings and occasional cracks of the whip. It gives him a wide enough screen on which project his varied psychic terrain, ranging from timid mama's boy to scary loner. "Peace" makes a nice conclusion to the complicated and somewhat subliminal (I can never really hear his lyrics; for me they serve more as part of the sonic make-up suggesting a mood or image under the music's breath) story, with the closing credits issuing over the sweet canticle "Flightless Bird, American Mouth," fading to black under a rush of sentimental accordions and piano.

Catch a stream of this wild river at his myspace until the winds of marketing whisk it away.

Alex V. Cook
Music Editor

Alex V. Cook listens to everything and writes about most of it. His latest book, the snappily titled Louisiana Saturday Night: Looking for a Good Time in South Louisiana's Juke Joints, Honky-Tonks, and Dance Halls is an odyssey from the backwoods bars and small-town dives to the swampside dance halls and converted clapboard barns of a Louisiana Saturday Night. Don't leave Heathrow without it. His first book Darkness Racket and Twang is available from SideCartel. The full effect can be had at alex v cook.com
about Alex V. Cook »»

Armoires week web banner

RECENT STORIES

RANDOM READS

All About and Contributors

HELP OUTSIDELEFT

Outsideleft exists on a precarious no budget budget. We are interested in hearing from deep and deeper pocket types willing to underwrite our cultural vulture activity. We're not so interested in plastering your product all over our stories, but something more subtle and dignified for all parties concerned. Contact us and let's talk. [HELP OUTSIDELEFT]

WRITE FOR OUTSIDELEFT

If Outsideleft had arms they would always be wide open and welcoming to new writers and new ideas. If you've got something to say, something a small dank corner of the world needs to know about, a poem to publish, a book review, a short story, if you love music or the arts or anything else, write something about it and send it along. Of course we don't have anything as conformist as a budget here. But we'd love to see what you can do. Write for Outsideleft, do. [SUBMISSIONS FORM HERE]

OUTSIDELEFT UNIVERSE

Ooh Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha May 29th
OUTSIDELEFT Night Out
weekend

outsideleft content is not for everyone