album review: Roots & Crowns

My second girlfriend made me two mix CDs during the tenure of our relationship. The first was a response to one I had made for her shortly after we met; the second was a New Year's gift. They were burned onto CD-Rs with a blue starburst design. The first I don't remember having anything written on it, and the second I believe she wrote "for Ray" onto, but it was with a marker whose ink didn't show well on the slick surface, and for the most part it was up to me to remember that they were not blank. Anyone who knows me knows that I am practically addicted to making music compilations. It is basically my natural action when struck with a pang of generosity. I can't even count the number of playlists I've half-composed in my head simply upon meeting someone who shares a couple favorite bands. That being said, I find that I'm very unreceptive to mixes given to me. It's not that I overly-critique them or imagine how I could've composed them better, but I'm interested more in music when I discover it myself.

She started off the first with "If Work Permits" by The Format. This was the kind of song that I normally wouldn't listen to, but numerous were the times I put this CD into my clock radio and cranked it full volume as I took a shower in my apartment which had recently become the first place I ever lived on my own. I would always sing along as the vocals cracked with the line "Hey, I - Hey, I'm doing alright" and the drums kicked in, sending the song into a frenzied departure from its tame opening. I could feel my heart constricting to the honesty and emotional power of the sound which had been given to me, and that I was taking as my own.

Two other songs on that CD have since become among my fifty or so all-time favorites: "Fake Empire" by The National and "The Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth" by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, two bands that at the time I had heard of but never heard (geez, I have a million of those.) She had managed to present me with music that to this day I do not feel complete without. There was not a single bad song on that mix, many that I still listen to frequently and recommend to my own friends, with a feeling of stoic maturity toward where I first heard them.

Another song that was on that mix was Califone's "The Orchids". I should've felt some sort of disapproval for the its placement and that it doesn't start with silence but rather a warbling noise carried over from the previous track on its containing album. However, the soft-sung beauty of the sound penetrated deep beyond my predisposed attitudes and took root deep inside my head. Well after we'd separated, and through various forms of early twenties upheaval that my life underwent, the melodies of that song would pop up now and then, asking me to remember where they belonged and what I was going to do with them.

Last month I was struck with the impulse to create a cassette tape of agreeable and exceptional songs which I would mix together using Garage Band and garnish with humorous audio clips from TV shows and internet cartoons. This was to be the kind of project which I would pore over for weeks and weeks, tweaking every crossfade until it was perfect. It was then that "The Orchids" again surfaced and made its way onto the tracklist. The way it stayed on the edge of my mind without ever being overplayed made it special. I knew it was the kind of song that would someday catch someone else's ear, and I guess its inclusion on the tape only reinforced that nagging feeling I had that I would someday have to give it to someone. That day has not come.

Just like I can't completely explain why I almost exclusively prefer to discover new music than have someone introduce me to it, I am always fighting between giving a good listen to the multitude of un-played music currently in my collection and finding something new. I decided it was high time to find and listen to the rest of Califone's album. Maybe another gem was waiting for me to wipe off the dirt and stash it safely in the annals of my musical tastes.

What I did was quickly transfer my downloaded mp3 version of Roots & Crowns onto a CD-R which I decorated with my characteristic sharpie'd cover art recreation. I believe it was after a night of band practice with my friend that I placed the CD into my portable player and took it for a walk under the streetlights. My path was aimless, I simply wanted to give the album some fresh air to present itself to me. Whether or not it was a chilly night, the haunting opening track "Pink & Sour" created a darkness in it's trudging rhythms. Out of the shadows jump more instruments than I can name and the vocal chants offer a sort of "you are trapped here now with us" overtone. Just when you've resided to drown yourself in the sorrow that is sure to spring from the depths this album has welcomed you into, the second track, "Spider's House" is not an evil place to be, but a refreshing beam of light. Like a morning sun assuring you that the nightmares are only that, or realizing you are so far into the darkness that your eyes have only adjusted. Either way, the album is a pleasant stream of ambient noises and contained melodies, branched together as one living moment. The impression is that it was recorded while the band was sitting around a campfire in the middle of an October wood, with an entire production studio tucked into their knapsack.

Several times I have gone on long walks with this album to keep me company. One time I simply laid in the grass and stared at the stars. Another, I wandered into new part of my neighborhood and found Roots & Crowns to be a simple comfort in its familiarity. Whether I was waking from a nightmare into a bright new world, or so lost inside one that I would never get out, I was content. I closed my eyes and continued walking.