Cloak and Cipher
01. Cloak And Cipher
02. Goaltime Exposure
03. Quarry Hymns
04. Swift Coin
05. Color Me Badd
06. The Hate I Won't Commit
07. Hamburg, Noon
08. Blangee Blee
09. Playita
10. Better And Closer
In the DiS review of
Land of Talk’s 2007 UK debut,
Applause Cheer Boo Hiss, the enigmatic critic who will go down in posterity only as
Rupert the Bare Nang
rambles that while the record 'seems entirely one-dimensional...
there’s something subliminal buried under these heard-it-all-before
songs, a tiny voice nagging away'. His point was a perceptive one: The
appeal of the Canadian three piece’s first release was subtler than its
guitar-vocals-bass-drums configuration suggests. Everywhere you were
surprised by the unusual patterns twisting around in the music, and by
the length of time that they spent spiralling in your head after you
finally managed to stop listening and do something else. Elizabeth
Powell and her rotating cast of band members seemed gifted with a secret
magic, delicate and understated, but powerful nonetheless.
Three years on, and Land of Talk’s third UK release, Cloak and Cipher,
seems permeated with the same mysterious alloy. The band’s comforting
familiarity is further strengthened now they have established themselves
somewhat: three albums in could almost count them as old hands by now,
and the warmth of Powell’s voice and guitar on the titular opener ‘Cloak
and Cipher’ brings every passed listen of Applause Cheer Boo Hiss and Some Are Lakes
rushing back. Even their lexicon of bizarre song titles is becoming
distinctive; some prime examples this time around being ‘Color Me
Badd’(sic), ‘Blangee Blee’ and ‘Playita’.
Almost predictably for a Canadian artist and sometime Broken Social
Scene collaborator, Powell has crammed the record with guest stars, from
Arcade Fire drummer Jeremy Gara giving ‘Quarry Hymns’ the frantic,
insistent urgency that his day job are famed for, to Patrick Watson
briefly adds strobing, crunchy keys to the epic thrashing of the second
half of ‘The Hate I Won’t Commit’ although, sadly, his trademark croon
is absent. Overall though, these guest appearances are so densely woven
into the music as to barely noticeable, reminding us that Powell is the
star here, making her identity on the record even more arresting.
Throughout, though especially in glistening closer ‘Better and
Closer’ (or perhaps ‘Better’ and ‘Closer’, the latter being the fuzzy
acoustic howl four and half minutes in), the album is an emotional
listen, intimate and bitter-sweet, drenched in a sadness that emerges
from your embrace with big, tear-filled eyes and a smile on its face.
Although largely interchangeable with its predecessors, Cloak and Cipher
still sounds fresh enough to please Land of Talk loyalists, and
engaging enough to showcase their appeal to new listeners as well. Plus,
we’ve seen plenty bands making careers out of releasing the same great
album over and again, and I for one, certainly hope that Land of Talk
will be one of them.
