Will
One Style
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| 5/17/2009 @ 11:39 AM |  |
A few months ago I bought an album and really liked it. I wrote a review of it, showed it to a few friends and then forgot about it. Recently, a friend asked me to post it somewhere so he could read it. Where better than here?
Understand, friends, that over time I hope to be better at this whole writing thing.
WillyOneStyle
I See Unsettlers
Every now and then a piece of artwork will tickle the senses such that one squirms free of the tethers of everyday life. The Unsettlers of Montreal have birthed an album that could scare a person righteous were it not for the allure whiskey in paper cups and the soiled warmth of a society that lives below the alleys and cellars of the old city. It spans decades then regurgitates fragments of its history together in a mosaic of pointed words eroded by euphonious droplets of oily love. It smells like fear and a taste is free but be ware of what you cannot finish. The self-titled masterpiece will leave you wide-eyed at three o’clock in the morning yearning for more yet wishing that it didn’t own you.
When you enter the circus tent and listen to this album you are immediately surrounded, they gang up on you and commandeer all of your attention. Their numbers are too great for you to resist, they are ten and you are one and you get the feeling that once they have what they need of you they’ll let you live. But you’ll never be the same.
The second track, He’s out of nails, sees each unsettling character step in to the swinging yellow light for a moment. Warming harmonies and intelligent solos encapsulate B.W. Brandes “blood soaked words” while a toe tapping shuffle dances around everyone ensuring none stray too far. Jerome is a somber little waltz that tells us a somber little story and you feel wiser for knowing it. With Jerome, they bring you to yet another dark corner of their catacombs and show you what you need to see. They carefully nestle you into the melodic lullaby, Signing Off On the Sleepiest of Eyes. By this point you know that you like it, you’re just not sure that it’s good for you.
The middle track, Red to Black, borrows from Jim Morrison, and you feel like they woke him up to ask permission. The lyrics are dark; they bring you to a quaint little bistro on the bank of the Styx. They serve neat and neat liquor alone, you dare not ask why. A woman stands alone in front of the silhouette of accompanists; she seductively calls for you to forget your fears and inhibitions, to forget everything up to this point. You repeatedly say no until she coaxes a yes out of you when the tab comes up. You wake up to a Heavy Handed accordion player and remember little of what has transpired. Slowly though, it trickles back, and they wont leave this unfinished; you are among them ‘till the end.
Eventually, The Committee Sounds the Alarm. The power of you captors has never been so evident but they are showing some minor fragility. A ghostly chorus wisps like fog around four beats and befriending words. Then, an explanation of existence: The Ghosts are Turning Strings. The strings tell the whole storey and the ghosts leave them for you at the bottom of the stairs. They seem to know exactly how much time they have as they become quite distant, packing their things as they renounce you for interfering. They have to leave, The Cops Are Here.
They may be gone, but you’ll seek them out again, you’ve been unsettled. The cops have little use for you so you take the coins from your eyes and pay the bus fare home. Without them, you feel empty; what did you sell in that little bistro? Jim knows, but he is sleeping now and should not be disturbed. There is a decorated handbill on the seat next to you, the circus is in town, and you should go.
By William A. Gilgan |
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Kevvy
Guest |
| 10/2/2009 @ 9:26 PM | |
Solid. I'm checking out this band as I type.
http://radio3.cbc.ca/bands/The- Unsettlers/ |
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Kevvy
Guest |
| 10/2/2009 @ 9:32 PM | |
| Holy fuck. "He's Out of Nails" gave be a raging boner. |
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Kevvy
Guest |
| 10/2/2009 @ 9:32 PM | |
| Uh... gave "me" a raging boner. My boner got in the way of the "m" key for a second. |
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