Grizzly Bear: Shields Review

  

When I was a kid, the concept of music as an enjoyable thing kind of escaped me for a long time. My parents would put on classical music albums and go on about how timeless and moving those pieces were. To me, it was of course stuffy, snooty, and overall quite life draining. I knew I liked music, I just didn't have the money to buy music, the patience to listen to radio, or the command of the TV to put on music videos; the result was a childhood assuming I knew what good music was, and acted like I liked it too. As I grew up, they put more of their era music on, opening my eyes to rock. Again, I went along with it, having no other frame of reference. Music had peaked, for all I knew, long before my time; the stuff I actually liked I had to admit to myself was not actually good.

Then I listened to Grizzly Bear's Shields. Finally, I had stuffy, snooty, life draining music from my era that could stand against all the music foisted upon me in my childhood. Music that had every bit of depth, talent, and effort in it as anything I'd been told was unmatched. What pride I felt for having it. What shame I felt being on the other side of the coin, now knowing how my parents felt. 

Shields justifies itself against Vekatimest by putting a larger emphasis on texture and arrangement. Indicated by the cover art, the music is....well it's not colorless, but it feels a lot more thematically mausoleic. It's hard not to feel the oppressive, cold spaciousness towering over you on Yet Again before it folds in on itself. What's Wrong is fluttering and bright, but it nonetheless feels encased in glass to prevent that joyful interaction. Even Sun in Your Eyes feels less like enjoying the first warm day in months as much as it reminds me of the Von Trapp family crossing the Alps, never to return. 

There's still quite a lot of musicality in play here, but it's often backed with walls of sound. It's still filled with motifs, but one would balk if you called them hooks. This all lends the music an emotionless feeling if you aren't enjoying it I'm sure, but I'd rather call it intentionally academic. A few years later, Fleet Foxes would attempt a similar approach, and it's interesting how that retroactively proved how fine a line Shields is walking. These baroque presentations in muted tones and stone faces don't collapse into a lack of character--they're precise, detailed, and subtle.

One of the keys to this success is the democratic method in which this band creates music. It's easy to consider Ed Droste the lead of the band simply because that's how most bands work: singer is the law. It's obviously the smart way to work if you want to get anywhere; allowing everyone to have equal say is what a jam session sounds like (bad). Sure, this equality then creates a lot of risk, but it also allows the experience and attunement each musician has to their particular quarter. So many bands end up being vocals forward with simplistic drumlines and copy/paste chord structures. Here, long stretches of wordless music showcase as much emotion and breadth (or more) than overreliance on vocals could ever have achieved. The shared composition and lyrical duties in the quartet gives a much more panoramic soundscape, and every bit of it is worth studying.

No more obvious is this precision than on the opener Sleeping Ute, interplaying multiple instruments in what teeters on the edge of chaos, but never falls. In yet another non-standard move, Daniel Rossen (taking roughly a quarter of the vocal duties here) holds long notes while his interweaving guitar licks lead the ear. It's restless, reflecting the lyrics, and once you know the motif, it's mesmerizing. Many tracks have themes move in and out of major chords, and most have at least 3 motifs. Above all of it, the precise, calm, delicate voice of Ed Droste does what he's always done. When you hear him come in on any song, it feels practiced, almost conducted. The most calculated moments were what clued me in that I understood what people see in Beethoven.

The emotion is still undoubtedly present, tucked into the lushness of the recording. I'm fond of the pensiveness that builds to a gallop of guitars, fluttering flutes, and sunny saxophones on Speak in Rounds before washing into a sea of electronic arpeggios on Adelma. I'm entranced by the descending melody and complexity of the tapestry of guitarwork on Yet Again. I am happy to bounce along with the carousel motion on A Simple Answer as it gently fizzes like a sunny memory trapped on a 50s home movie. 

I was surprised to look at the track list to find that only one track is below 3:30, and even that one acts as an epilogue to the previous track. The subject material lends itself to these lengths, as the band loses sense of time whilst being so self reflective and isolated. The frustration with a past relationship is biting at him, and he's rehearsed these complaints during long walks in the woods. They don't always make immediate sense, but maybe I'm not supposed to get the entire picture. This is, after all, only his side of the story. He doesn't even seem to want to rekindle anything--this is just stuff that needed to be said. 

It takes some time to get to the point, but it's again precise, detailed, and subtle. On A Simple Answer, Rossen shuts the door: "Move on, let's face that all you trust is a cynical phrase. No time, no place, when all you hope is that everything breaks." On Yet Again, you can hear the music display Droste's disappointment that he's the only one doing any work to stay together. "Lately it's about all I can take. I will move and mend and mold this break" he sings dejectedly. "Speak, don't confide. We barely had a case." 

The self reflection isn't just about what was done against Droste; he knows his own part in his failed relationship. "I'm foolish and never know how to resign". Maybe the relationship was doomed to fail. Maybe that's the healthiest result. At the very least, anyone should welcome the growth the quartet has found in vocalizing these issues. And yet, if I were to put myself in that situation, it'd be as satisfying to say all of this stuff as slapping Michael in the face. It's another fantastic justification for the calmness instead of amped anger you'd expect when listening to a post-breakup album.

The biggest achievement this album can boast is how each part can be taken by itself and enjoyed--but when you put it all together, it's jaw dropping how well it plays. Yet Again might be the best example on the album, but everything here was done with the intention of servicing the message. Vekatimest is undoubtedly more fun, but you can tell Droste and co didn't just want to make a list of songs this time around. There's nothing here that mixes things up just to carry your interest after a ballad; really, there's no need for that anyway. Every song, every song, is a journey, and they all tie together to create an odyssey. You just can't tear yourself away.

To a certain extent I feel like I've been prattling on about the same thing over and over in every paragraph. There's not a whole lot to detail that either a) is hand-waved with "classic Grizzly Bear" or b) is not talking about how melancholy this is. That's what the album is, and there's only so much I can say before just suggesting you go listen to it. The compositions are studious, the lyrics are both enigmatic and familiar, the production is as detailed and mossy as a forest, and the complete package is mature. The qualities will leap into your ears, porridge-thick with substance.

 

10/10, Vinylworthy