Sufjan Stevens

Most artists or groups generally work forward from smaller-scale compositions towards more grandiose productions, such as the Beatles' gradual transition from Rubber Soul to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Far fewer begin their career with complex concept recordings before moving to a more simplified format, as the new EP from Sufjan Stevens, All Delighted People, released atypically on a Friday (August 20th). The unusual release date largely reflected the unexpected record, for which Stevens had offered very little indication anything new would be forthcoming.

While technically an EP – consisting of eight tracks, rather than the typical 10-12 that comprise an LP – in more customary Stevens fashion, it's not short. At just seconds shy of a full hour, several Weezer or Ramones albums could have fit inside. Moreover, the collection is unmistakably part of the Stevens milieu, with no shortage of choir voices, horns, strings and the general grandiosity that informed his state-inspired previous albums, 2003's Michigan and 2005's Illinois, which served as bookends for 2004's Seven Swans. However, a several tracks are as minimal as any he has produced to date, backed by acoustic guitar or piano, rather than a full orchestra.

The collection's center are dual versions of the title track, the opening version dubbed as "Original" with the latter appearing five tracks later as the "Classic Rock Version." Repeated references to Simon and Garfunkel's "Sounds of Silence" (in quotes such as "the people bowed and prayed" and "hello, darkness, my old friend") are mixed with a brief nod to the Lennon/McCartney melody in "A Day in the Life" (specifically, "four thousand holes in blackburn, lancashire...") across nearly 12 minutes of french horns, haunting choirs and chaotic string arrangements. It could be considered overwrought if so much of his previous material wasn't already so enormously epic. Meanwhile, its "classic rock" counterpart might not reflect influences like Zeppelin or The Who, but moreso the Pink Floyd and Frank Zappa varieties. A gentle drum part gives way to a Zappa-esque electric guitar figure that never sounds settled. At just over eight minutes, its by no means radio friendly (even for 70's-era AM radio) and still far shorter than its predecessor.

As a stark counterpoint to the title tracks, Stevens presents several more basic numbers, such as "Enchanting Ghost," "Heirloom" and "Arnika," that emphasize the artist's wounded Thom Yorke-style singing more than his well-noted skills at arrangement. While none are particularly ebullient (for instance, he spends several measures in the latter of these tracks lamenting that he's "tired of life"), they do offer a different take on Stevens' skills as a songwriter, conveying emotion via sincerity rather than spectacle. Of course, that intimacy doesn't apply to closing track "Djohariah," with levels of bombast, intricacy and chaos more commonly associated with his work across more than 17 minutes of All Things Must Pass-era George Harrison flavor.

Come for: "All Delighted People"
Stay for: "Enchanting Ghost"
You'll be surprised by: "Heirloom" (mostly because Stevens manages to round-off a song in under three minutes)

Farewell Drifters

Sometimes, the surge of distortion and monstrous drums are needed to get the blood flowing. In others, the force of a wall of horns or the finely-crafted interplay between a host of instruments expands the boundaries of a given piece of music. But there will always be something refreshing and honest about a group of musicians getting together without the aid of amplification or a kicking rhythm section. This latter sentiment envelops the work of Nashville-based quintet, The Farewell Drifters on their debut offering, Yellow Tag Mondays.

Supposedly formed after lead singer and guitarist Zach Bevill encountered mandolinist Joshua Britt on a Nashville street corner, their chance acquaintance turned into the group's ultimate formation with Britt's younger brother, Clayton, on lead guitar and standup bassist Dean Marold that was not only based on traditional bluegrass and roots folk, but also more melodic influences such as the Beach Boys and Beatles, incorporating their more pop-flavored vocal harmonies into the tight vocals that usually accompany bluegrass arrangements. It's an approach most similar to the sound of the Pure Prairie League's seminal "Amie." After the arrival of fiddler and former Wake Forest debater Christian Sedlemeyer in 2009, the five-piece rounded into an ensemble capable of thoroughly enjoyable original work that bore strong connections to its underlying musical foundations.

Their collective instrumental and vocal prowess is apparent from the outset through "Love We Left Behind," which opens the 14-track collection. Blending Bevill's and the younger Britt's finger-picking acoustic guitars with the elder Britt's mandolin work, the smooth harmonies lay-in early without becoming overwhelming. Sedlemeyer's violin gently underscores the more prominent vocals and pickers, while Marold knows the precise role of standup bass on recordings, namely to be solid and unobtrusive like a dependable stay-at-home defenseman. While Marold certainly seems to have the chops to demonstrate his talents in a live setting, on record the instrument looses its motion and can grow cumbersome, which the group wisely recognizes throughout the album. This is all the more important when there is no dedicated percussionist.

Following-up with the more countrified "Everyone is Talking," the Drifters hit their stride early. It's a beautiful piece, with Bevill's smooth and very listenable lead vocals – sounding much like Moxy Fruvous' Dave Matheson – prove the perfect pivot for the band's fuller harmonies. Sedlemeyer's fiddle parts are strung out with ease, while later guitar and banjo leads add just the right front porch charm. Its easily the best effort on the record and speaks to the sensibilities of McCartney and Brian Wilson to which Bevill and Britt aspire as chief songwriters.

While the album's first couple tracks present a gentler approach to their sound, it wouldn't be a proper bluegrass offering without a few of the foot-tapper variety. The best of these is the record's forth cut, "Sunnyside Drive." With a energetic banjo line leading things off, Bevill also presents his most developed narrative effort, describing "the nanny with the newspaper, and tobacco juice is running down her cheek" in the second verse. While relating the tales of the nanny, pilot, evangelist and the boy collecting baseball cards, he presents a well-meaning glance at Americana without stooping to the preachy and worn cliches of contemporary country music. Likewise, "Virginia Bell" is fit for a jamboree, with more fine banjo, mandolin and fiddle work.

And, of course, no roots music collection is complete without the requisite instrumental, which appears here in the form of "I've Got Your Heart in My Hand, and I'm Gonna Squeeze," with an early dose of Celtic background supplied by Seddlemeyer's fiddle and barn floor sawdust via banjos, mandolins and guitars later on in a tidy two minutes and fifteen seconds.

Come for: "Love We Left Behind"
Stay for: "Everyone is Talking"
You'll be surprised by: "Sunnyside Drive"

Arcade Fire

The concept album is a rather loosely-defined proposition. Some may rely on a complex narrative, involving named characters, precise settings and an evolving storyline. Others meld a looser combination of broad themes, similar musical styles or production techniques. Thus, whether a given record meets the definition of a concept album is ultimately up to the standards of the observer. Into this void enters The Suburbs by the anthemic Montreal troupe, Arcade Fire, released today.

By most measures, the 16-track offering would measure as a concept album, given the stage crafted by husband and wife co-leaders Win Butler and Regine Chassagne, spreading out the conflict between the safe, stifling banality of the suburbs and the wild threats of the city across the collection's array of styles and moods. In journeys across various locations and times, to and from neighborhood backyards and the "hot pavement" of downtown, the unnamed narrators in the forms of Butler and Chassagne explore their apprehensions and horrors as neither environ seems capable of maintaining its hold on stability. All this takes place in a space somewhere between David Bowie's Diamond Dogs, Springsteen's Nebraska and the Smashing Pumpkins' Mellon Collie & the Infinite Sadness. But those seeking the tightly-crafted arrangements of Sgt. Pepper or Tommy might want to look elsewhere.

Interestingly, the collection's title track leads off by staking-out unfamiliar ground for the band, with a peppy, Benny Anderson-style piano part accounting the pending downfall of the album's namesake subject. As bombs and walls are falling in subdivisions everywhere, Butler describes his character's desire to show his daughter through the land of his youth before the earth is scorched by some unspecified force. The father as a guide to a daughter in the face of imminent danger is a recurring theme for Butler, who introduced the archetype on the band's previous release, 2006's Neon Bible. The opening number sets the path for escape - at least initially – from the suburbs that if they offer no security, the offer nothing at all, according to Butler's narrator.

Following this atypical launching point is the more common Arcade Fire sound on "Ready to Start." Cued by a vocal approach and pogo stick-guitar work in the Josh Homme vein, Butler's protagonist prepares to confront the blood-sucking businessmen and late nights of the city. Its imbued with the same directional energy that informed the group's biggest track off Neon Bible, "Keep the Car Running." Conversely, the Cure-flavored "Modern Man" introduces a muted 80's sound that underscores the character's self-doubt and concerns of wasted time, the latter of which becomes a theme explored on later tracks such as Chassagne's frenetic "Empty Room," with its hyper strings and full-throated choruses; the dusty trail, country-and-western ballad "Wasted Hours;" and "We Used to Wait," with its paranoid, punchy keyboards and irregular beat that points to the Talking Heads. In these subset of cuts, the participants' efforts to find stability – let alone fulfillment – are increasingly futile.

Meanwhile, the album's characters negotiate the city's "modern kids," shouting their battle cry of "Rococo," as a menacing wind unites their travails in "Month of May" and Chassagne's "Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)," strongly patterned of the recent work of the Toronto quartet, Metric, with its techno-rock blend. The city again offers no relief in "City With No Children," with Butler's vocals eerily replicating the tenor of Sheila Divine/Dear Leader frontman Aaron Perrino. It's the album's most fully realized number as a stand-alone piece, although I could have used some added oomph from the rhythm section, as the tune doesn't advance much in pace or intensity as it builds.

At the same time, the suburbs offer no respite from the dangers of the city, as illustrated in "Suburban War," not as much as the latter's threats to physical survival, but rather a soul-crushing blockade to emotional growth and satisfaction where friendships don't endure past sad divisions. "Month of May" is likewise a violent account of the brink of the suburbs' collapse – akin to the fervor displayed in Neon Bible's "(Antichrist Television Blues)" – and the dual-part "Sprawl" describes the characters' growing fear, where the distinctions between suburbs and city are dissolved as "dead shopping malls rise like mountains beyond mountains / And there's no end in sight."

At its zenith, The Suburbs presents a fleeting nod to one of the most iconic concept albums of all in its epilogue, "The Suburbs (continued)." The Dark Side of the Moon flavor is unmistakable despite the track's brevity at just under a minute and a half. In all, the collection of focused imagery presented by seven-piece ensemble (their precise duties in the collective has never been well-defined due to their wide-ranging talents) is actually more accessible than much of the group's previous work, without the detours to pockets of the avant garde that defined parts of Neon Bible and its predecessor, 2004's Funeral. And much like The Decemberists' theatrical The Hazards of Love, this work is best understood in composite, rather than each track's individual functionality.

Come for: "Ready to Start"
Stay for: "City With No Children"
You'll be surprised by: "Wasted Hours"

Tokyo Police Club

The release of the second album is a fabled concept amongst rock commentators. Some assign it epic value – the definitive answer as to whether an artist or band will amount to anything over the long-haul. Others will more reasonably suggest its simply the album that follows a debut, nothing more or less. The truth, like most things, likely resides somewhere in the middle, which is the case of Champ by the Toronto indie outfit, Tokyo Police Club.

While I'm certainly not attempting to project some ultimate prognosis on the career of the young group, their sophomore release, out this past June 8th, shows a trajectory of maturity in both songwriting and performance demonstrated recently by The Gaslight Anthem on their recent American Slang (yeah, I probably cannot go a week without referencing them). On the Club's previous LP, Elephant Shell, and earlier EPs, A Lesson in Crime and Smith, the quartet largely employed a throttle-up, run-n-gun approach, sometimes sounding like a cleaner John Spencer Blues Explosion and others similar to a more jarring Strokes, producing speedy and driving skinny-jeans style power punk. Here, they tone down the fury a bit and settle into a more composed, but no less forceful format that retains the core of their sound but adds new tools and smarts to their work. However, similar to earlier efforts, Champ can be navigated in its entirety during the course of a morning commute to work, rounding out its dozen tracks in a brisk 37 minutes.

The evidence of this evolution comes early, on the opening track, "Favourite Food" (note the superflous "u" signifying their Canadian identity). Hark, it's an acoustic guitar intro for well over the number's just-under four minute duration, a component nowhere to be found in the band's previous material. Singer/bassist Dave Monks situates the listener in the past, likewise a rare occurrence in his preceeding lyrics, suggesting a "looking back on your days / How you spent them all in a blur / When they asked if you were for sure." It's an entirely new sound for the group, and one that's all the more stark a contrast at the collection's outset, even as drummer Greg Aslop eventually infuses the number with more pulse later on, and guitarist Josh Hook and keyboardist/guitarist Graham Wright introduce more of the band's signature flavor, alternating clean, Mick Jones-style riffs with jangly delay loops a la The Edge.

But the real mark of the foursome's new direction is on the following number, "Favourite Color." With Monks and Aslop laying down its "1979"-influenced rhythm part, the song's narrative is the most developed Monks has yet offered, its protagonist inquiring about the number's title subject and "your younger brother." Even though he tosses up clever lines such as, "Like KC & Jojo / like Sunny & Cher / You're Tina, but I'm not Ike," he steps further away from his younger flirtations with Iggy and closer to a more mature relationship with Bruce with, "the national child star, in a coat and a scarf / Alone in the laundromat," a line that wouldn't appear out of place on "Blinded By the Light." Moreover, the musicianship supplied by Hook and Wright is loose and more improvisational than the stabbing cuts they offered before.

After a "Breakneck Speed" that is not, in fact, indicative of its title – again capturing the more restrained mood – the infectous and breezy first single, "Wait Up (Boots of Danger)," steers the ship a bit back towards their previous catalogue, but without the gnashing sneer of earlier offerings that limited their accessibility to hipsters in the indie scene clubs. Some of the swagger that fueled the Strokes' "Last Night" to a larger audience is present here, and their aim for that same spirit is self-evident, as Monks describes "the music and the lights and everything" on top of the number's nervous energy.

And yet, as much as I like the record's first quartet of tunes, I equally dislike the following "Bambi," whose schitzophrenia is too distracting considering the well-crafted material before it. Additionally, Monks explores the lowest reaches of his register here, which is hard to execute in his nasal-throaty voice much in the John Linnell / Colin Meloy mold (by comparison, singers like Neko or Chris Cornell fuel their vocals from the lungs). Now, plenty of singers do fine with less-than-stellar tones – not only folks like Linnel and Meloy, but also Billy Corgan and John Lennon – and Monks simply needs to settle in the heart of his range as he does on the rest of the album.

A pleasant deep-cut discovery is "Gone," as in "to the coast" or "on the beach, where I let my ship sail." Hook's stabbing guitar riff establishes the song's motion from the first chord, while Wright's wafting organ part at the first chorus delivers the tune's lighthearted feel, as Monks emplores us to let our hair down. Any fan of Weezer's "Surf Wax America" will be delighted with this number.

Come for: "Wait Up (Boots of Danger)"
Stay for: "Gone"
You'll be surprised by: "Favourite Color"

P.S. Tokyo Police Club headlines tonight at Washington's Black Cat club. Opening act, Arkells, hailing from down the Q.E.W. from Toronto in Hamilton, are generating a bit of buzz. Expect a follow-up review here should that buzz be justified.

P.P.S. This is the third consecutive review of a Canadian artist. I can assure you the trend will continue next week.

Kathryn Calder

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Last month, the National Hockey League – in its annual end-of-season awards ceremony – recognized Tyler Myers of the Buffalo Sabres with its award for the league’s top rookie player. That prize is known as the Calder Trophy, and is earned by a first-year player who distinguishes themselves apart from not only their teammates, but also their peers in competing clubs with potential for even greater accomplishments ahead. Similarly, a relatively new, young performer will release her first full-length album next month, and the name Calder once again designates a stand-out debut like Myers.’

Stepping out from her cadre of bandmates in the indie-rock supergroup, The New Pornographers, Kathryn Calder’s Are You My Mother – due out August 10th – presents a half-dozen compelling, uptempo tracks with a smaller handful of more subdued piano ballads. New Pornographer’s frontman, A.C. Newman introduced his niece, Calder, to the band on the group’s Twin Cinema record to cover Neko Case’s lead vocals when her own solo tours prevented her from tagging along to NP shows. And while Calder might not have the same pipes as Case – after all, who does? – she nonetheless offers a perfectly enjoyable vocal style to carry the entire 10-track effort, with a sound closer to Rilo Kiley’s Jenny Lewis.

After starting somewhat gently with first single, “Slip Away,” with its post Bill Berry-era R.E.M verses and Evanescence-style wordless chorus and the somber “Low,” third track “Castor and Pollux” is a solid introduction to Calder’s more aggressive material, with its chorus speaking to “chambers that have been blown wide open.” Its useful in establishing Calder’s direction independent of the New Pornographers or her previous group, Immaculate Machine, in which her vocal contributions were largely limited to back-up parts.

Still, for those looking for something similar to her Pornographers’ work, the mid-collection “If You Only Knew” features some communal harmonies with her session players and a guitar riff similar to Newman’s “All the Old Showstoppers.” With its tone similar to The Shins’ “New Slang,” the out-of-the-box percussion including claps and curbside rhythms, the number seems to be the album’s best venue to showcase Calder’s talents in both songwriting and performance.

In this space, I’ll typically describe how some late-cut ballad marks a departure from the rest of the album’s material. However, the real surprise here is found three tracks later in “Day Long Past its Prime,” as hard and driving a number Calder offers. Her rolling piano foundation and a fuzzy guitar part keep the piece humming along through its brisk three minutes, and certainly provides a nice counterpoint to the scattered ballads.

Come for: “Slip Away”

Stay for: “If You Only Knew”

You’ll be surprised by: “Day Long Past its Prime”

Great Big Sea

The dog days of summer that currently have much of the nation sweltering induce, at best, lethargy and at worst, short tempers. Fortunately, there is no better cure in all the land than the one coming from our northerly neighbors in Newfoundland in the form of Great Big Sea. The sure-sure sea chanties, drinking songs and shoreline lullabies these lads routinely craft have transformed many an eye-rubbing dawn into a hopeful Ordinary Day and many more early evenings nights of dance and merriment. The boys return with more of the same on their 10th release, Safe Upon the Shore, out today.

The Newfoundlanders – at heart, a three-piece but usually accompanied by former Moxy Fruvous bassist Murray Foster and drummer Kris MacFarlane – are at their prime when blending reworkings of traditional Celtic, Acadian and seafaring numbers with their own offerings advancing the practice of those styles. Their mid-90s collections such as 1995’s Up, 1997's Play and 1999’s Turn captured the group’s raucous, yet good-natured spirit – best displayed in their live performances. However, their more recent contributions, like 2004’s Something Beautiful or 2008’s Fortune's Favor focused more on an adult contemporary sound that stripped the uniqueness and excitement out of a distinct outfit. Only 2005’s compilation of traditionals, The Hard & The Easy, reclaimed that energy. There’s plenty of John Mayers and Nicklebacks peddling their non-threatening wares, and too few extolling the virtues of sail-makers and grog-drinkers. Fortunately, Safe Upon the Shore hews much closer to their former approach than the latter. And, as a precaution, I will give an extensive treatment here, in case you’re in need of an urgent Twitter fix or a Facebook update.

They don’t rush into their fast-break, between-the-blues rush right away, however. Instead, they ease back into their trademark sound with hearty harmonies, tin whistles and mid-tempo ballads. Co-lead vocalist Sean McCann leads off with “Long Life (Where Did You Go?),” revealing a slightly different vocal sound somewhere between Gaslight’s Brian Fallon and fellow Canadian Ed Robertson of The Barenaked Ladies. It’s a decently-paced number, but I’m not sure about the electric guitar work supplied by frontman Alan Doyle here. It’s not particularly nimble – unlike so much of the group’s other instrumentalization, and masks a bit too much of McCann’s "Just Pretend"-style acoustic part. Fallon comes through in the verses as McCann phrases “opened the door, I turned on the light, I hope I’ll see you there,” while Robertson emerges as Sean leads the fantastic GBS chorus voices.

From there, more of the telltale GBS sounds return on its successor, the Doyle-sung “Nothing But a Song,” where the soaring tin whistle intro of uber-multi instrumentalist Bob Hallett instantly transports the listener to the shores of Labrador. It’s reminiscent of some of Doyle’s catchy originals from the Up/Play/Turn era like “Consequence Free” or “Sea of No Cares,” albeit a bit more relaxed. Moreover, the wordless, a cappella bridge hovers effortlessly without becoming demure. The lads can never remind us often enough how well they can sing.

It gets better on the third track, the ballad “Yankee Sailor.” In the style of Doyle’s earlier “Boston and St. John’s,” we’re again connected with the story of a young seaman and the trials of love while at sea. But in this narrative, the sailor is resigned to the likelihood that his maiden is transfixed with another, with whom he cannot compete and yet somehow can wish the best for her despite the toll it will take on him, as he knows she is making no error fixing upon his rival, and that realization is far harder to cope with than the consequence of a total lack of judgment. If that alone were not a compelling enough concept, Doyle couches that sense of inferiority – whether perceived or not – in distance between Americans and Canadiens, which the narrator is clearly positioned in the True North and envisioning his love as the sole reason for America’s beauty. Whether the plot reflects any of Doyle’s own perspective on Yankee-Canuck relations and culture is artfully buried in the movement of the story. But as someone who’s spent numerous nights gazing “across the water” (Lake Erie, in my case) towards New York and Pennsylvania from Ontario’s shores and saying “America is beautiful tonight,” Doyle is certainly on to something here and has composed something that connects with me extremely personally in the way perhaps only Aaron Perrino’s "Swan" or "Like A Criminal" have done.

Fortunately, McCann again takes the reins in “Good People,” an uplifting and soothing campfire tune, mixing of the Gordon Lightfoot/Jim Croce/CSN traditions with more warm harmonies at it’s core. It’s extremely close to the bluegrass compositions of the Barenaked Ladies – some of the best work that group ever offered – such as “For You,” but also not foreign to the musical ancestry of the Canadian Maritimes, as much of that foundation stemmed from Celtic influences, and that same background migrated to the hills of Appalachia to form mountain music, bluegrass and, ultimately, country.

Another vein of that tradition continued further south, merged with Creole in the swamps of the Delta to become the Cajun and Zydeco styles. Dolye explores some of this common ancestry in “Dear Home Town,” with its accordions, harmonicas and horns spanning the gap between Newfoundland and New Orleans. Meanwhile, Bob Hallett’s regimental “Over the Hills” speaks to the more limited Queen-and-Country British influence in eastern Canada.

The real treat of the album, though, Doyle’s mid-set barnburner, “Hit the Ground and Run.” Literally the account of a shotgun wedding, your foot will be tapping before the first chorus and you’ll be reaching for that high third harmony by the second go-round. More interesting than all the picking of banjos, fiddles and mandolins is the tune’s co-author, Doyle’s close friend – and fellow Robin Hood actor – Russell Crowe. Close since Crowe caught a GBS show in Australia several years back, and after Doyle produced the actor’s first professional recording, the two-time Academy Award winner has been known to hop on stage with the Newfie boys for a Johnny Cash cover or an Irish reel (the former of which a certain blog author might have witnessed in DC on March 15, 2008). Here, the collaboration produces the best tune on the record.

Its followed by its counterpoint, McCann’s entirely a cappella title track. The presence of bassist Foster here is vital – as his bass vocals ground the McCann’s lyrics that sound as if they could have been penned by hands on the first transatlantic vessels. The proceeding cover of The Kinks’ tongue-in-cheek ode to the iconic British potable, “Have a Cuppa Tea,” is an interesting idea, with is banjo and Celtic drums a new twist on Ray Davies’ snarky original. They continue the classic rock look-back later on in a pretty faithful replication of Led Zeppelin’s “Gallows Pole,” itself a reworking of a traditional medieval arrangement. And while McCann is obviously trying hard here, he doesn’t quite have Robert Plant’s pipes to pull it off. Still, the group always reaches high on its rock cover selections, and its version of “It’s the End of the World As We Know It (and I Feel Fine)” off Play actually is closer to the spirit of Michael Stipe’s vision than the actual R.E.M. track itself, nearly quadrupling its pace to more accurately depict the rapid-fire world of college policy debate of the early 1980’s that Stipe experienced when he joined a fellow University of Georgia student at a debate tournament and found the entire experience absurd. The meaning of lines such as "a tournament, a tournament, a tournament of lies" and "offer me solutions" [the debate plan], "offer me alternatives" [the counter plan] are unmistakable.

Closer to the end, Doyle’s “Road to Ruin” could easily be found amongst GBS fans’ favorites such as “Rant and Roar” and “The Old Black Rum” in the group’s encores as it tours Canada and the states this summer.

Come for: “Hit the Ground and Run”
Stay for: “Safe Upon the Shore”
You’ll be surprised by: “Yankee Sailor”
P.S. The cover art for Safe Upon the Shore is ridiculous. Check it out above.

Telegraph Canyon

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Found somewhere along the drifting byways of central Texas is the Fort Worth-based folk rock outfit Telegraph Canyon, offering a Texas-sized approach not only in their number of bandmates (seven) but also in musical scope – blending lush orchestrations with Eagles/CSN-style harmonies and a slew of instruments. The ultimate product is their second full-length release, The Tide and The Current, released in 2009, that responds to the need of each song with an appropriate mix of musicality, listenablity and integrity in a promising debut effort.

Listeners familiar with the subjects of previous reviews here of The Southeast Engine and The Overmountain Men will find musical camaraderie in Telegraph Canyon's approach to linking local narrative with interesting instrumentalization – everything from banjos to string parts are included – in backroads journeys like "Safe on the Outside," "Into the Woods" and "Shake Your Fist." The first is the most driving of the 10-track collection, with its most fully-realized melody and chorus structures, while opener "Into the Woods" eases into its sojourn gently, with frontman Chris Johnson's rusty-sharp intonation layered over a reluctant piano figure before kicking into a more aggressive pace around the two minute mark. It's here that the prowess of the full ensemble is exposed as harmonicas, organs, and multifaceted percussion fueling the project forward. Meanwhile, the latter presents a pretty banjo-and-xylophone foundation before awakening its electric guitars in a track that wouldn't be entirely out of place next to an early Radiohead cut like "Stop Whispering."

The mid-album Americana number, "A Light in the Field," finds a residence in that welcome and comfortable space occupied by the likes of Petty, the Counting Crows and Jakob Dylan, with plenty of Hammond organ and hazy guitar suited for filling the air of a Midwestern summer night. It makes the most of the track's just-under three minutes. Its followed two tracks later by the more quirky "Quirky Assurance," which doesn't settle quite as easily into the heartland groove it aspires to as its predecessor, but is still largely effective in demonstrating some sing-along harmonies as it builds in intensity. Likewise, the penultimate "Dressed in Flight" introduces some nice fiddle work by bandmate Tamara Cauble that later meets up with a corresponding electric guitar harmony by Erik Wolfe. Like "A Light in the Field," I appreciate this track's brevity, which adds some urgency to the waltzy ballad, producing perhaps the finest performances on the record.

I'm not as enamored with Johnson's handful of singer-songwriter type tunes. His voice is a bit stark and grating on its own, without the highlights and flavor provided through his fellow musicians. They're not poor compositions on their own, and include some pleasant accordion and string work, but aren't especially compelling when contrasted with the rest of the work.

Come for: "Safe on the Outside"
Stay for: "A Light in the Field"
You'll be surprised by: "Dressed in Flight"