There are some genres of music that seem to grow in appeal during certain seasons. For me, melancholy-tinged indie pop (The Lucksmith's Naturaliste, for example) is the flavor of autumn. Garage rock is usually best seasoned with a dash of snow and a lot of grey clouds. And what is one of the most palatable flavors of summer? Orchestral indie distilled in southern Scotland, a la Camera Obscura. Camera Obscura's latest release, Let's Get Out of This Country, has a luminously sweet flavor that will lull a person into a state of gentle, reflexive relaxation. There is a hint of an aching, aged melancholy; not the melancholy of a young band (Camera Obscura has indeed been a band for ten years now), but a lingering ache that persists in the sensitive, aging members of society.
Oftentimes, when Camera Obscura is described to a newcomer, they're described as the female Belle & Sebastian. And frankly, their 2004 release, Underachievers Please Try Harder, did little to dispel that mythology - while it was a very, very pleasing record, the red, twee fingers of Stuart Murdoch could be unearthed in every song faster than the key clue in an Encyclopedia Brown mystery. But Let's Get Out of This Country quickly asserts its independence; more country-tinged songs, such as the enthralling "Dory Previn" and the title track, charm a listener into repeated spins. Another joy is the girl group thrill of "I Need All the Friends I Can Get," as well as the fantastic, down-tempo "Country Mile," which captures all of the longing of walking alone in the middle of a dense fog. Vocalist Tracyanne Campbell might not be able to sing with the awesome might of an Aretha Franklin, a Loretta Lynn, or a Mavis Staples, but her unique voice has an alluring, familiar intensity which is two parts lullaby, three parts bestest best friend in the world, and one part wide-eyed girl describing the world with a medium Bic pen to her diary.
This is not the album to listen to if you want a muscle shirt, drag-race, short-shorts summer. It's the sound of two best friends in a car, camera on lap, lunch in the back, and thick black sunglasses ready to explore the upside down pool sky of June. They're not looking for boyfriends, lovers, or drama. They're looking for a cafe in the middle of nowhere with a supply of weird souvenirs. Let's Get Out of This Country is the summer day made to be pressed, saved, and loved all the way into your white-haired, rocking-chaired nineties.
Reviewed by Megan Giddings
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