tUnE-yArDs

tUnE-yArDs – AKA: a haunting lo-fi pots-and-pans ensemble – is the creation of Merrill Garbus (also of Sister Suvi): Canada’s answer to a question never asked. As expected with lo-fi, Garbus’ debut, BiRd-BrAiNs, is full of hauntingly underplayed vocals and a rag-tag assortment of instruments, lead by Garbus’ own ukulele. The album itself is a mishmash for the senses, but at times the wilful eccentricity becomes overwhelming, and you are left feeling impersonalised by a genre which aims to place you three-feet from the singer at all times.

Although Garbus has managed to get a large underground following, perhaps by self-releasing BrAiNs some months ago, information is scarce. This mystique is probably meant to bolster the character, but it only acts to serve as a reminder that ‘more is more’. The secrecy is incongruous to the gimmicky development of the album; the alternate capitalisation in the title, for example. Whilst not a major flaw, it’s annoying before you even start.

Fortunately for us, some of these doubts and irritations can be cast aside when you actually sit down and listen to the track. Although the beginning sounds alarmingly like Falling Down by Turin Brakes, that’s where the similarities stop, as Garbus steers this record as far from the mainstream as is possible. The opening features both yodelling and the innocent voice of a child discussing fresh blueberries: It’s a strange one, admittedly. It does act as a good introductory platform for Garbus to demonstrate just how good a range she has, however.

Fan-favourite Sunlight – “Look at me, me, me, in the picture” – follows the age-old pattern of slowly building to a crescendo; and with a heavy-handed touch, too. When it reaches the end, it’s like you’ve fallen into a Kubrick film: haunting chanting-style lyrics, and shouting; throw in some Morse code and some digitised baby and you’ve got yourself a full opening track.

What was promised, however, is not delivered. The underproduction and tinny quality merely becomes grating and it’s up to tracks like Lions, a gorgeous symphony of gentle ukulele and repetitive drumbeats, to keep the listener sane. Although Lions’ lyrics leave a lot to be desired: “Please oh can’t you please just stay on over for the night...” the backing is a tinkling delight. Hold on to this moment dearly though, for this is where we start to slide...

Skipping gently across to the mountainous insanity of yodelling, you land in critics’ hot-tip for the album, Hatari. Against the current, I actually think this is one of the weaker tracks: Interesting – definitely yes – but pioneering? Probably not. It’s not the unabashedly insane song that we were promised; it sounds more like a quintessentially cutesy Kings of Dependence homage.

Jamaican, a marimba-style tin-drum graveyard music set against institutionalised lyrics – “I see you, I see you, oh yes I do, I see you, I see you” – and Safety – a melange of styles, are standout tracks for this listener’s ears.

It’s towards the end of the album that Garbus seems to have run out of ideas, and needs to dip back into her electronic bag; Fiya and Little Tiger are weird for the sake of weird. Synonynonym props up the ending, but it suffers from the plague which afflicts the whole album: How and where are you going?

Garbus has introduced something to think about, something to fall into, but it’s not the lo-fi we’ve come to know and love. It feels distant, and like it’s trying too hard to be just that bit weirder than it needs to be. Like a hallucinogenic trip through a Belle and Sebastian album; it’s overwhelmingly strange, and whilst imaginative and inventive, it doesn’t put you right there. When you should be staring straight up her skirt, you’re eight yards away fighting through a ragtag collection of Dali shapes.

Published November (1/2nd), in TheMusicMagazine.