When he presented his second album, Up
In Flames, two years ago, it was all change
on Dan Snaith’s musical front. Nothing was left
of the luscious laidback electronica of Start
Breaking With My Heart. Instead, Snaith adopted
psychedelic soundscapes and borrowed from seventies
rock to explore new grounds.
This time round, it is a change of name that signifies
the returns of Snaith more than a change of direction.
Gone is Manitoba, no thanks to a semi-obscure punkster
in dire need of attention; in is Caribou, another reference
to Snaith’s Canadian roots.
Following his last album, Snaith turned his solo project
into a trio comprising two drummers and took to the
roads for an extensive tour of Europe and the US, performing
with long-term friend Four
Tet as well as Stereolab,
Broadcast and Prefuse
73 to name but a few. Kicking off pretty much where
Up In Flames
left off, The Milk Of Human Kindness continues
to explore chemical-enhanced soundscapes rooted in early
seventies psychedelia. Yet, where its predecessor sometimes
appeared a tad shambolic, this new album shows a more
focused and determined approach, as if the lawsuit hanging
over Snaith had pushed him to throw all his creative
energy into this project. From the opening bars of Yeti,
there is like a warm insolent breeze furiously running
throughout Snaith’s music, right until the very
last seconds of Barnowl; a wind of euphoric
joy translated into stunning vocal harmonies, dense
arrangements and luscious melodies.
Alternating between short-but-perfectly formed interludes
(Subotnick, Lord Leopard, Hands
First, Drumheller), complex instrumentals
and fully develop pop songs, Snaith takes inspiration
in anything from the Beach Boys to Hawkwind via nods
at the Beatles circa Sergeant Pepper, Mercury Rev and
The Incredible String Band. At times remaining composed
(Bees, Hello Hammerheads), he lets
lose at others and deals moments of pure pleasure all
the way through.
Although The Milk Of Human Kindness is undeniably
rooted into seventies psychedelic rock, it is also a
very modern record, proud of its electronic identity.
Only, Snaith’s ability to craft incredibly dense
and organic soundscapes gives this album impressive
depth, only underlined by his vocal contributions, on
no less than five tracks, going for the layered Yeti
to the stripped down Hello Hammerheads, on
which he appears almost vulnerable amongst delicate
acoustic guitars.
Far from being discouraged by the events of the past
few months, Dan Snaith appears more determined and focused
than ever and establishes his new identity as Caribou
with aplomb. Not only The Milk Of Human Kindness
successfully expands on its predecessor, but it also
establishes new grounds for caribou to explore. By far
Snaith’s most exhilarating release to date.
4.8/5 |
