I wish I could skirt the issue of accessibility, since it had been the dominant topic of pre-release buzz and the slew of glowing reviews that popped up after its release, but it’s unavoidable. Dirty Projectors has long been a maddening band, one inspired by that effusively abnormal songwriter, Dave Longstreth, who frequently annoys even those who worship him with his music’s aggravating instability. The songs have usually been off-kilter trainwrecks, amazing half the time and virtually unlistenable in between. “Tour Along the Potomac,” “Fucked for Life” and “I Will Truck” were pretty great, but some of the rest? A mildly charming (but sadly unnecessary) “interpretation” of Black Flag’s debut LP, bizarre nonsense about a suicidal Don Henley, and unflattering blockades of aggressive glitch, choppy R&B and savage art rock crank. Selling out isn’t even a part of the vocabulary.
So should I call for all other bandwagon jumpers to follow my lead? Not likely, since this is really just like other any other non-Flag album in the Projectors’ canon, just reversed. Instead of pop melodies and level-headed songcraft being crammed into ostentatious noise canoodling, this time the songs are sound on the bottom level with all the tricks pressed against the sky (someone call Gruff Rhys and warn him about the competition). And instead of the more fashionable moments being the most thrilling, the song on here begging to be repeated ad nauseam is the most experimental and schizophrenic. So instead of balancing accessible mellowness as most suggest, I’ll put out the theory that the best way for Longstreth and crew to remain avant garde was simply to go backwards, as they do on Bitte Orca. Difference in being samey? Not quite—they’ll still be strangers to most radio stations. If that works for those turned off by the sonic psychosis before, that’s great, but they seem just as forbidding now as ever before, just in a different way.
Comparisons to Animal Collective’s Merriweather Post Pavilion are inevitable, since both acts have devised ways of making their artful fusion schlock sides more palatable without losing their tentative edge in doing so. More than ever, Dirty Projectors emphasizes the melodic side, with dreamy chamber pop circulating electro funk and glassy soul textures, broken up by percussive clomps and brief slabs of ratty noise rock. The tempos shift erratically no matter the soft allure of the melodic backbone (“Temecula Sunrise”), big synth intros eventually evolve into blustery percussive thunderstorms (“Fluorescent Half-Done”), rustic country folk gives way to monster rock riffs (“The Bride”) and chiming, sun-drenched chords get overrun by bruising falsetto backups and big-echo handclaps (“Cannibal Resource”). Meanwhile, Longstreth’s lyrics can go from awkward come on (“And what hits the spot, yeah, like Gatorade?/You and me baby, hittin' the spot all night”) to suggestive travelogue near-gibberish (“The face of earth will be white/And after all, yeah, all of it/Indian paintbrush and a couple of brown finches”) in the same composition—in this case, “Sunrise”—or whatever other odd pairings he feels like.
A contentious point has always been Longstreth’s vocals, which can be described as mellifluous, chirpy and/or languishing, depending on your view. But more often than not, he sings in correspondence with the oft-wordless harmonizing back-ups, another instrument to add to the arsenal. One of Dirty Projectors’ greatest assets has always been the instrumentation, which always sounds lustrous and lavish. His warble is entirely lacking in the subtle quirkiness of his musical invention, though, and that lack in contrast has always been a detriment. But on Bitte Orca, with the fractured melodies primed for exposure, the tone rarely overwhelms or lags, pitched appropriately with the musical crescendos and complimentary female players.
The album’s midsection is far and away the most impressive segment. First single “Stillness Is the Move,” inspired by Wim Wenders’ Wings of Desire, finds guitarist Amber Coffman taking over for Longstreth in a coarse-pitched soprano over a contemporary R&B arrangement that, in a fair world, would knock divas like Beyoncé and Mariah Carey off their rickety pedestals. From there, bassist/keyboardist Angel Deradoorian steps up to lead vocals on the dazzling folk pop lullaby “Two Doves,” which sounds of both the 60s and modern day with its velvety strings and flighty plucking. Finally, there’s “Useful Chamber,” which is a mess from afar, but galvanizes up close. Warped synths and metallic beats lead into a crumbling bed of guitar flutters, twinkling keys and gentle sound washes. Disembodied ethereal backups drift absentmindedly before lurching its tone; electric guitar crunch amps up the stomping attitude. In the middle, a mostly deadpan pseudo-rap, immediately followed by a weird, cacophonous tape trick and huge, belting “ahs!” And we’re only about halfway through at that point. Normally, that sort of ambitious chaos has been one of Dirty Projectors’ greatest weaknesses, but this one comes together sublimely. Longstreth even forgoes his usually ponderous verbal bent for simple emotional appeals—he even sounds a bit like Antony Hegarty when he begs, “Call to me, soft and sweet/Cool the fire that burns in me/Catch me when I lose control/Look into my eyes/Look into my eyes/I'm caught up in a storm.”
That sort of emotional pull is lacking elsewhere, though, which is one of the album’s few chief faults. The honeyed voices express orgiastic joy, but most of the lyrics are usually either enigmatic phrases or aloof statements. Many of these songs are hummable (a couple may even get you itching to move your body) but euphoric singalongs are few and far between. Which isn’t to say that Bitte Orca would have benefited from being more party-oriented (it would take a very specific guest list to open up your get-together with this LP), but there’s an unfortunate coldness buried beneath the warm pop glow. The old cliché of calling an album a “grower” arises here; you have to adapt to the temperature of Longstreth’s bag of tricks before you can open up to them. It only took two spins for it to settle comfortably for me, but I sense most will require more. Luckily, there are enough supple hooks stirred in to make you curious enough to try again.
It’s been an exemplary year for avant Brooklyn bands getting the good ink (Animal Collective, Grizzly Bear, and now DP), but don’t let the hype make the decision for you. As good as these records are (and the first approaches greatness), none of them are going to transform the climate. It’s great to see them remaining passionate to their own (differing) aesthetics, but it’s even nicer to hear them relying on the old familiar—a catchy tune—not to sell or exploit, but to explore avenues that they once might have overlooked or reprioritized. As dull as the generic can be, there’s a reason why the unwritten rules of familiarity led those acts down that derivative path. Dirty Projectors will never clean themselves off entirely, but the fact that they’re willing to focus their typically unbalanced approach is refreshing. Bitte Orca didn’t leave me reduced to rapturous tears or flapping my jaw in abject awe, but I smiled frequently enough, nodded along almost as much and reached for the replay button when it was done. Isn’t that all you need from your music?
"Bitte Orca" is on sale June 9, 2009 from Domino.
