This morning finds me in rough shape after a night of $1 pints and plenty of good-natured debauchery. Along with coffee and the BC powder I found in our compay's first aid kit, Her Majesty the Decemberists is helping me wage the war I am fighting against a stubborn hangover. As I searched for some medicine to soothe this bitch of a headache, it was amusing that of all the possible pain/headache cures on the market, our company has fucking BC Powders. I thought that stuff was only available in towns where NASCAR reigned supreme and people were able to confuse it with the crystal meth they just manufactured in their bathtubs.
But back to the music... The Decemberists are a brilliant quintet hailing from Portland, Oregon by way of Missoula, Montana. Colin Meloy, the band's lead singer, composes eloquent tunes that favor fanciful stories from somewhere back in time. The group's name actually comes from history, the Decembrists were Russian revolutionaries who led an unsuccessful uprising against the czar in 1825. Rather than write the personal and realist creative non-fiction often found in the indie scene, Meloy leans on things outside of his experience, such as the bond formed between soldiers in "The Soldiering Life", or a crew's journey around the South Pacific to deliver spices, rum and tea-leaves in "Shanty For The Arethusa" (I had to look Arethusa up- "A wood nymph who was changed into a fountain by Artemis"... who knew?).
"Los Angeles I'm Yours" is interesting not just because Meloy pairs the critical lyrics with a light-hearted tune, but because he throws classical, flowery language-- referencing "orphans and oligarchs" and verses like "Oh what a rush of ripe élan, Languor on divans, Dalliant and dainty"-- against post-modern Los Angeles.
IMHO, "Red Right Ankle" is the best of the bunch, and has essentially been on repeat as I write this entry. One the album's many gems, he employs a unique and fascinating wordplay, alternating between a metaphorical and anatomical use of the word "heart." Describing a girl's suitors, he sings, "Some had crawled their way into your heart/ To rend your ventricles apart." Anyone other than Colin Meloy would sound absurd using the word ventricles in a song, but he pulls it off with such confidence that it seems appropriate.
Meloy's melodies are so perfect and his words so substantial that it reminds you how much slack we cut most other bands. Too many singers mumble or screech as if they didn't trust or care about their words: Meloy declares his lyrics, lets his work live or die by them, and sets them deep in masterful pop surroundings.
Give it a listen, you won't be disappointed.
The Decemberists - Her Majesty the Decemberists
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