Review: 'Shepherd's Dog' takes
Iron & Wine in new, and surprisingly welcome, directions
By Jon Jacobs
September 27, 2007 | It is said that change will move
us, erase all that we were and leave us blank, waiting
for the next adventure. Sometimes this change is unexpected,
causing an erosion of the mind that unsettles us. Still,
change can be needed, beautiful and fundamentally good.
And sometimes it is exceptionally good.
With The Shepherd's Dog (Sub Pop label: Sept.
25), the latest release from Sam Bean, AKA "Iron
and Wine," we find his normally subtle and
humbly quiet voice being set to walls of instrumentation,
tribal drums, and, God forbid, electric guitars. The
acoustic guitar is still present, but drowned behind
the album's lush and polished production, a movement
away from the traditional folk-acoustic 'lo-fi' nature
of Bean's previous efforts.
This journey from bare-bones folk to full-band-one-man-instrumentalist
first found its way on his last effort, 2005's Woman
King EP, with its rich electric/acoustic infusion
that marked an exciting turn to the future. Here the
switch is in full form. Melodies swirl over your head
in waves of sonic epiphany, recalling the calming warmth
of great singer-songwriter albums such as Van Morrison's
Astral Weeks.
The album's slick production however, never serves
as an obstacle the listener must overcome to enjoy the
tracks. Bean, unlike other songwriters who allow production
to be a barrier shrouding the shoddy song structure
and movements of the music, uses it fully to his advantage.
The album's focus still is that soft voice and its often
heartbreaking honesty that makes you swear you've heard
the song before. The song crafting is still in full
form, on par if not superior to the entirety of his
catalog.
As if to complement the common comparison to Simon
and Garfunkel, Bean's voice is doubled in fifth and
fourth harmonies, insomuch that some of the tracks wouldn't
feel out of place on Parsley, Sage Rosemary and
Thyme. That is not to say, however, that Dog
lacks originality. In fact, it reveals a confident and
independent artist who, rather than running from his
influences, embraces them with full intention and fervor.
Lyrically, the album is a mixed one. As always, there
is a presence of heartache and loss, but here the focus
is often replaced by religious turmoil, and political
injection. Unlike his previous LP Our Endless Numbered
Days, with its harmonious and peaceful delivery
of intimate and personal love stories, Dog
finds our beloved Bean venturing into a brooding anger
at times.
Songs such as Pagan Angel and Borrowed
Car deliver a sense of immediacy with lyrics such
as "Every morning we found one more machine to mock
our ever waning patience at the well. Every evening
she'd descend the mountain stealing socks and singing
something good where all the horses fell. Like a snake
within the wilted garden wall."
Even with the new lyrical direction, Bean hasn't lost
his ability to craft the flowing love songs that brought
him renown. The soft mid-tempo ballad Resurrection
Fern finds Bean recalling a lost love with a tenderness
unachieved by musicians twice his age. The heartbreaking
lyrics "and we'll undress beside the ashes of the fire,
both our tender bellies wound in baling wire. All the
more a pair of underwater pearls than the oak tree and
its resurrection fern."
Though the album bids farewell to intimacy brought
by the stripped-down nature of his previous releases,
The Shepherd's Dog opens the flood-gate
of Sam Bean's musical genius. Never before has he sounded
so confident in his song crafting abilities, and as
a result Dog doesn't so much play as much as it shines
-- brightly and proudly.
If musical change sends albums like this, then bring
it on.
MS
MS
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