CD Review: Vetiver - To Find Me Gone

The trouble with talking about a discrete movement in pop music is that there's only so much one can say; and more often than not, what one can say is probably a woeful generalization. Take, for example, Andy Cabic of Vetiver. Willfully nebulous though it may be, there's probably no current movement more discrete than the quote-unquote "freak folk" Cabic and his more famous friend, Devendra Banhart, have been slowly and steadily bringing to the indie limelight since 2002 or so. It can be traced to just two record labels (first Michael Gira's Young God Records, and now Cabic's and Banhart's own Gnomonsong imprint) and a small handful of musical influences: British folk, pre-glam Marc Bolan, the Incredible String Band. But while it would be easy enough to begin this review simply by rattling off Cabic's various indie folk credentials, or perhaps engaging in a side-by-side beard comparison with Devendra, that wouldn't give much of an idea about To Find Me Gone as an album, now would it?

So instead, I'll just say that To Find Me Gone - the second full-length by Vetiver, and the first since they became almost a household (or at least dorm room) name - is both exactly what you might expect from the movement of its origin, and a hell of a lot different. The acoustic, spidery instrumentation and Eastern textures of latter-day freak-folk albums like Cripple Crow and Feathers are all present and accounted for; in this case as early as opening track "Been So Long," which blooms from a simple pattern of tamboura drone, ethereal backing vocals and deliberate hand percussion like a time-lapsed flower. What's missing - or more neutrally, the area where Cabic makes his departure from form most felt - is the sprawling, communal feel of those aforementioned records and others. Freak-folk, in general, tends to put equal emphasis on both sides of the hyphen, breeding music which sounds casual, recreational, almost incidental in its creation. Tin Pan Alley, it ain't. But with his latest Vetiver release, Cabic is branching out into a new kind of songwriting, one which sounds at least as much at home in the studio as on the festival stage. In short, he's turning into a bit of a - gulp - professional.

Which, by the way, is not in the least meant as a slight. If Banhart will always have the edge on his frequent musical partner in terms of pure wild-eyed oddness, then Cabic is the McCartney to his Lennon in the best possible way: he inhabits the same musical space, sharing influences and backgrounds as well as the occasional chord-change trick, but his quirks are less thorny, more tempered, and ultimately, a lot more accessible. There's no Bolanesque mewling to be found on this disc (except that which is contributed by Devendra himself, on closing duet "Down at El Rio"); instead, Cabic's voice is as pleasing and smooth as Egyptian cotton, coming off like a blissed-out Elliott Smith on the hushed Americana prowl "You May Be Blue" and like a more mannered Ryan Adams on the gently cascading "I Know No Pardon." He even finds the time to contribute what could arguably be freak-folk's most potentially marketable single yet: a warm, playful, and just the slightest bit askew love song called "Idle Ties." And with its wispy vocals and lightly plucked banjo, "Red Light Girls" sounds a lot closer to that friendlier, prettier face of indie folk, Sufjan Stevens, than anything Gnomonsong has released yet...that is, until about the four-and-a-half minute mark, when the song explodes into a squall of fuzzed-out Lou Reed guitar noodling and double-time drums.

Article Author: Modern Pea Pod

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