Department of Eagles is usually referred to as a side project for Grizzly Bear’s Daniel Rossen, but he’s now released just as many LPs for each, and his collaboration with Fred Nicolaus (the other half of DOE) actually predates Grizzly Bear. Those familiar with DOE’s last full-length, The Cold Nose, may be surprised by the slightly new sound. The quirky, electronic projects on Nose are no more—In Ear Park is an alt-folk-pop album through and through, sticking with guitars, banjos, pianos, and the like. But don’t think that they’re becoming dull and predictable—while song structures can be mapped out after repeated listens, the route they take to get to the end is usually surprising, even if it’s not always satisfying.
The album opens with the title track, something of a lo-fi folk waltz dream. It’s a track dedicated to Rossen’s late father, but it could have been about pretty much anything and it would have worked. There’s some richly subdued instrumental work here, as the fluttering, twingey acoustic guitar meets up with a saloon piano and some oddly-timed percussion. Knowing what the song is about adds to its clout. “If you listen/You'd hear the waves,” followed by, “Oh, we all forgot him/We can't forget him.” We’re not made of stone, are we?
“No One Does It Like You” is another of the album’s best tracks, showcasing an infectious limp-drag marching beat, though it ends both suddenly and anti-climactically. Climaxes are one of DOE’s trouble spots; I doubt that Rossen and Nicolaus are all that interested in them, but look how much more immediate and agreeable certain songs are for having them (ahem, title track). Some build to those moments and even coast atop, only to abandon them and twitter off in a different direction before the song ends. But when they stick to their guns, they can make lesser courses seem more appetizing.
“Phantom Other” comes down the home stretch with enough force to make the simplistic statement, “Look out, look out now/We gotta get out now/Wake up, wake up now/We gotta get out now,” into a surprisingly effective anthemic rallying cry. Ditto for “Waves of Rye”’s swelling bridge. And Rossen’s voice is an impishly curious one—sometimes it works to great advantage (selling, “All my thoughts left me again/Bliss me out, send me away/I'll wait around for another soul” on “Around the Bay”), other times it’s too wispy and fragile (competing poorly against the hammering piano in “Herring Bone”).
Several tunes are a bit too Samuel Beam: quiet gaps in the instruments, wooden echoes of sawdust notes, vocals that feel like whispers even when they’re loud, etc. Lou Reed and Brian Wilson are copped freely (not to mention one-time Wilson compatriot, Van Dyke Parks), but they’re less distracting. Meanwhile, “Teenagers” (and some others) is a latter-era Beatles four-track experiment. The melody owes so much to “Hello, Goodbye,” “Strawberry Fields Forever,” “Something,” “A Day in the Life” and countless other sweeping, sandy pop classics that it’s distracting. I realize that no pop group in the world can free themselves from the endless influence of the Fab Four, but it’s more overstated here than it ought to be. And the Beatles were more concise in their songwriting; DOE enjoys a good walk, even when a run or rest works better.
While some may embrace the occasionally reckless and expansive vision that DOE offers up, I found that the leaner arrangements were almost always more successful. Both of the tracks that stretch past five minutes seemed to get lost along the way. There are some indelibly potent passages on “Floating on Lehigh,” but it wheezes to the finish line. As disinterested as they seem to be in proper climaxes, they’re even less concerned about solid pop hooks. Sure, hooks might not be necessary in these kinds of lush and moody soundscapes, but their presence might have tightened up the moments that meander.
It’s disheartening not to fall in love with an album like this. Not a single track should have been abandoned altogether, but only a small handful is worthy of adulation. The music is languid, imaginative and ambitious, qualities that can produce some great dreaming-on-the-beach music. But by quietly invoking the spirits of so many great pop musicians before them, they risk tarnishing their voice. And they’re in desperate need of focus and editing—shaving off a few seconds on almost every track would have improved this album considerably. I suspect there’s still a great record in this duo, but In Ear Park comes up a few shining moments short.
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