The Decemberists Bring Folk Rock Intelligence To The Lake

The wordsmith in me adores "Lake Song", the latest release from the Portland, Oregon outfit The Decemberists' album "What a Terrible World, What a Beautiful World". You can't concoct vocabulary choices such as these unless you are truly inspired. For example, who injects the word "prevaricate" into a song? Many of your best selling stars past and present could likely be eliminated from contention on the spot. To show you how I educate as well as entertain and to help you out if you don't have The Decemberists on speed dial in order to get an explanation from them, I'll let you know that "prevaricate" means "To deviate from the truth". That's not the only spot where "Lake Song" dares to be cerebral to outstanding effect. "Terminally fey" essentially says "My doom is imminent. Come here to my bedside for that last pivotal hug." Only fey I'm familiar with regularly has a book out named "Bossypants" and answers to the name Tina. In any case these gents have guts galore for putting such an obscure word into their lyrical hopper. Tell me you use "fey" in casual conversation all the time and I take it back. No? Okay then. "Lake Song" works splendidly as titles go because the instrumentation flows along gracefully like the waters of fill in the lake nearest your house here. Acoustic allows the rocker facade to come crumbling down. There isn't a jangling noise in the stew. That sets the stage for lead singer Colin Meloy to floor you with his beguiling mind. He's softly gliding along the water a tourist in passing. "Lake Song" serves its task as music for people who don't like to beaten over the head with either machismo or over the top symbolism. Starving for beauty plucked straight from an orchestra pit? Nate Query possesses a cello in his bag of tricks. Moreover, he's not even remotely afraid to use it. Predominantly the melody rolls along, passing time with no 21st century urgent task to go running after. Minimalist entertainment molded into a pleasing shape that doesn't wear out its welcome the way so many other pop hooks have before. A slight crescendo pops its head above the fray to remind us not to rest on our leisure time laurels any more than they're resting on their laurels as an erudite band of tune makers. The drum kit usually uncorks the most hectic cog in the music machine. John Moen goes against that grain. His intensity level arcs only slightly, and at those times only when called for. Coming in for a landing on the lyrical tarmac once again "sibylline" doesn't leap out and grab me as a word that two leggers sitting down to beer, coffee, or wine at their favorite watering hole. That's brilliance with a capital "B". That word means "cryptic" FYI. I haven't come across a ditty that's caused me to do this much legwork to understand how all the pieces fit. Immediately gratifying. The Decemberists treat their audience like they have actual brains in their heads. I grasp how you'd surmise "Lake Song" would serve no purpose other than the backdrop for high tea in London as the scones are being laid out before you but you'd be making a criminal mistake. "Lake Song" stirs beauty, poignancy, peacefulness, and levelheadedness into its vast mixing bowl. The resulting understatement won't knock anybody out of his seat at the concert hall. It's earthy art that makes you think and somewhere along the way in its own vital quiet whisper releases you into the world a better man. "Lake Song" calms the agitated, pumps up the ennui riddled and proves Portland has much to be proud of when surveying its musical lineage. By all means jump into this lake with both legs in full springiness mode.