{"product_id":"her-majesty-the-decemberists","title":"Her Majesty The Decemberists","description":"\u003cdiv\u003e \u003ch3\u003e \u003cspan\u003eProduct Description\u003c\/span\u003e \u003c\/h3\u003e \u003cp\u003e \u003cspan\u003eFor all intents and purposes, ''Her Majesty. . .'' could best be described as the charming older brother to the band's previous outing. And, while being recognizably related to its sibling predecessor, it is an altogether different beast. Present and accounted for are the Victorian literary tropes, the rakish mariners, and the Dickensian downtrodden that slouched their way across the lazer imprinted surface of ''Castaways and Cutouts''; in ''Her Majesty the Decemberists,'' a new cast of characters is introduced as well, giving further depth to the richly bizarre songcraft of the band's bespectacled leading player, Colin Meloy: an aristocratic Jewess, slumming it blindfolded among the exotic avenues of a Chinese bazaar, the coifed and coked-up bon vivants of greater Los Angeles, the writer Myla Goldberg, and a pair of affectionate soldiers, celebrating their comradery among the mortar blasts and trench mud of World War I Belgium. Musically, the band travels over new territory as well, mining deeper into their Beatlepop influences to create a record that is as lush as it is intricate. Strings soar, glockenspiels chime, and analog synths buzz over what the band considers its finest overture into pop song arrangement, all the while keeping intact the folk-pop instrumentation that has defined the sound of the band since its inception: Mr. Meloy returns on acoustic and electric guitars and singing, Jenny Conlee on accordion and keyboards, Chris Funk on electric guitars and sundry stringed instruments, and newcomers Rachel Blumberg and Jesse Emerson, respectively, contribute their drumming and upright bass playing.\u003c\/span\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e \u003ch3\u003e \u003cspan\u003eReview\u003c\/span\u003e \u003c\/h3\u003e \u003cp\u003e \u003cspan\u003eThere's a crash and a scream, and the groaning sound of a warship come to rape the harbor: That's right, The Decemberists have another song about pirates. ''Tell your daughters do not walk the streets alone tonight!'' cries Colin Meloy with nasal urgency, and the band gives it more drama than ever before, lunging into an aesthetic that's half Dickens, half 1950s adventure comic book. You can almost smell the mothballs on their costumes. They don't care that some listeners won't even make it past this song, or that some people don't want to hear a pirate story no matter how well it's told.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe Decemberists may never escape the label ''quirky,'' which is a crime: Whatever the style, Colin Meloy's songwriting makes this band one of the strongest working today. His melodies are so perfect and his words so substantial that it reminds you how much slack you cut most other bands. Too many singers mumble or screech as if they didn't trust or care about their words: Meloy declares his lyrics, lets his work live or die by them, and sets them deep in masterful pop surroundings...\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn ''Shanty for the Arethusa'' and ''The Chimbley Sweep'', the band marches aggressively past the just-skilled-enough playing of their other albums, sounding like a version of The Coral that's twice as smart (and half as loud). The horns, strings and keys they've brought in this time sweeten the production, and they nail the upbeat Britpop arrangement on ''Billy Liar'', a song about a dull summer break that has what sounds like a lovestruck chorus. There's also romance in ''A Soldiering Life'', a homoerotic ode to the military. It's winningly clever, and even if it's not the deepest song in their repertoire, you have to credit Meloy's enthusiasm when he practically drools the word \"stevedore.\" It's just one display of the surgical precision of Meloy's lyrics, along with the taut ballad ''Red Right Ankle'', or the rich imagery of ''Bachelor and the Bride''.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut what's most intriguing about Meloy's style isn't his erudition or kitsch; it's the strange tension he creates by mashing both qualities together. ''Los Angeles I'm Yours'' sounds odd not just because he matches the disgusted lyrics with a breezy tune, but because he throws old-fashioned, florid language-- references to ''orphans and oligarchs'' and taunts like ''I can see your undies''-- against post-modern Los Angeles. And in ''Red Right Ankle'', he alternates between a metaphorical and anatomical use of the word ''heart.'' Describing a girl's suitors, he sings, ''Some had crawled their way into your heart\/ To rend your ventricles apart.'' We know Meloy can slop through pirate gore in one song and write poetry in the next, but it's more interesting to hear how easily he can do both-- and how willfully he'll do either.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs they've become bolder, The Decemberists have lost some of the uncertain dreaminess of the best songs on Castaways-- say, ''Here I Dreamt I Was an Architect'' or ''Grace Cathedral Hill''. But Castaways' near-transcendent finale, ''California One\/Youth and Beauty Brigade'', is matched here by ''I Was Meant for the Stage'', where Meloy doesn't just state his ambitions, but stands at the front of the crowd and waits for the tomatoes to fly. Maybe from here they'll become an esoteric cult band, or maybe they'll just keep getting better: Either way, The Decemberists have already established themselves so thoroughly that I was able to make it through an entire review without comparing them to Neutral Milk Hotel or namechecking Edward Gorey. They're an unclassifiable American original, and they could turn out to be one of our best. --Pitchfork\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe success of the Decemberists doesn't lie in the fact that each song that they write is a miniature world, intimately detailed and poetically rendered. The success of the Decemberists lies in the fact that, on the their two albums and lone EP, their artistic statements are somehow cohesive- never sounding too far from their signature chamber pop sound. Of course, that's not to say that the group uses the same instruments, devices or songwriting techniques to achieve their purposes- each song is a unique entity, frequently yielding eminently catchy melodies and memorable turns of phrase. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe melodic content, admittedly, is chock full of references to other successful songs: ''Los Angeles, I'm Yours,'' for example, features a bridge which strikes a bit close to the Three's Company theme (and that's a good thing, especially considering the song's title and lyrical basis) and the ever obvious comparison to Neutral Milk Hotel is merely too easy (and I'm perhaps too lazy) not to make. But what great album doesn t seek to innovate as much as evoke nostalgia? \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e''The Gymnast High Above the Ground'' is easily the centerpiece of the album, clocking in at more than seven minutes and relatively early on. The beauty of the track is almost overwhelming- the pseudo-sloppy acoustic introduction, the nakedly clear vocals of Colin Meloy, the subtle introduction of each element, the chugging momentum of the piece- and any sort of description denies it the justice that is done in actually hearing it. What the song perhaps reflects as a change in the bands aesthetic, though, is the attention to detail paid to these tracks. There is a moment halfway through ''The Gymnast...'' in between verses in which buzzing strings enter into the mix lightly, fluttering underneath a steel guitar barely drawing attention to themselves as they gradually become clearer. Their introduction is an alien one, they sound disembodied, almost insect-like, but become more and more clear as the track progresses. It's an apt metaphor for the album as a whole. Underneath the surface of these grand productions lies hidden undercurrents of malice, disgust and social commentary- all things that would seem to be at odds with a beautifully constructed pop song. Additionally, the album unlocks its hidden charms and addictiveness upon repeated listens. Meloy's narratives, as well, reveal their time and their place only upon close listening and a bit of research. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis sort of device has already used to great effect by bands such as Belle and Sebastian, but the group gives it a new life, especially considering that group s recent output. The Decemberists brand of chamber pop is a welcome addition to the musical landscape, especially one that is no longer devoid of a great pirate song. --Stylus Magazine\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAn important detail about Her Majesty the Decemberists -- and one I m venturing you won t read about in many other reviews of the album -- is that there s a lyric sheet inside. Though lyric sheets are not unheard of entities in contemporary releases, they are a rare find, overlooked in favor of arty photography\/graphic design or more often nothing (fewer pages to print = less cost). So by finding the words inside, all neatly typed in a classic font, you know a couple of things right off about this band. First, they want you to read their lyrics. And second, they hope you ll eventually sing along.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAllow me to further interpret these seemingly petty details. The Decemberists' songs on this release, sporting titles like ''Shanty for the Arethusa'' and ''The Chimbley Sweep'', are stories. More than that, they are involved narratives, which paint historical scenes in faraway places, pluck literary references from dusty volumes and use multisyllabic words you may need a dictionary to define. Giving you their lyrics so plainly is both an offering and an instruction. At once, they re showing their cards (no mysterious phrases, no possessive secrecy) and unearthing a whole other world of imagination and curiosity. (Who are Billy Liar and Myla Goldberg (as songs are named after both)? And if insight into them makes the songs more meaningful, what other allusions are hidden elsewhere?)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt the same time, the lyric sheet represents a simple desire to turn their music into something sing-able mimicking the folk convention of passing songs along orally before they were ever written down. You learn the words, you sing the songs, they get stuck in your head, you sing them for others. The best music has always pollinated this way, and the Decemberists are wise to aid along this ritual.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTogether, in a nutshell, you have the Decemberists: erudite populists, knotty folksingers, innovative traditionalists through and through...\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer Majesty remains in stylistically similar to Castaways, but with some noticeable changes worth mentioning. Overall, the album is much brighter a cleaner, shinier, more open production, with tunes that overall are warmer, even when their content isn't. Secondly, Rachel Blumberg sings a number of backup harmonies, giving the entire album a homier, more collaborative feel. Whereas Castaways had a number of highly memorable numbers, this album contains a clear, standout (dare I say, radio-friendly? Well, maybe college-radio) ''anthem'' in ''Los Angeles, I m Yours''. Altogether, these shifts make the album feel a lot more accessible. More accessible isn t necessarily good or bad, but it is indeed different...\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e''Los Angeles, I m Yours'' sits in the middle of a five-song set of strong, magnificent Decemberists material that unfortunately is cut short by the plain Jane of ''Song for Myla Goldberg'', a song that strives for catchy and instead falls just short, at annoying. Perhaps it s the bordering on silly lyrics (''I know New York, I need New York, I know I need unique New York'') or the overzealous jubilance of the melody. But the song ends a disappointment, which is carried further into the rather lackluster ''The Soldiering Life''. Telling the story of a fighter warring in an era before Smart Bombs and perhaps even anesthetics, it seems more a shell of a Decemberists song than the real thing. What is hardly formulaic on other numbers here just sounds like the product of some bare bones calculations maybe ''pick historical subjectivity, add bright pop melody, stir.'' The gorgeous, facile, tragic ''I Was Meant For the Stage'' and dark, determined ''The Chimbley Sweep'' save the end of the album, but for sure, the best is at the beginning; so much so that tracks 1-5 may very well end up being the world of the album to you. --Popmatters\u003c\/span\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e \u003c\/div\u003e","brand":"Books Prime","offers":[{"title":"Audio Cd, September 9, 2003","offer_id":45912163614911,"sku":"5ecb3140-ed9e-479e-b709-45aa680ad0ac","price":19.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0761\/7550\/7647\/files\/2634096d808bf97947469201ae525dc9.jpg?v=1785006393","url":"https:\/\/books-prime.com\/products\/her-majesty-the-decemberists","provider":"Books Prime","version":"1.0","type":"link"}