Domino

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Cass McCombs has always moved to the beat of his own drum. Politely reclusive but fiercely independent, his musical trajectory is not easily traced and is as restless and transient as the long list of abodes he has inhabited throughout his adult life. And by trajectory I'm not exactly talking album by album, now five of them, but within albums. An enigma of stature, McCombs is your quinessential independent artist, genre defying and almost spitting in the face of classification. You get the impression that McCombs sees the world and its history as one big random series of events; the more humans try to classify and divide, box up and compartmentalise their past, present and future, the inexorable sea of humanity with its unpredictable currents of good, bad and indifferent will always undo such attempts.

Looking back on his previous four records, confounding examples are amply evident whether in songwriting approach or production values. On debut album, A, McCombs announced himself in a lyrical cloak of deadpan ambiguity whereas musically a mix of ramshackle awkwardness and distinct virtuosity swirled around together. The dense pop imperfection of follow up PREfection sees its end production almost bely the end product where crisp lines are expected but soft edges are delivered. Dropping The Writ is cleaner and less layered with unexpected brush strokes of country and folk but intelligently created hooks full of pop sensibilities ever present. Catacombs, employing everything from latin beats to sugar coated retro-pop continued the stripped back process as if McCombs was peeling back bits of himself, revealing ever so subtlety his unique lyrical, musical and song writing abilities.  And thus it is. McCombs' body of work, where change is a natural, unavoidable fact is no more illustrated that on his latest piece of genius, the deliberate and hauntingly spare tribute to traditional arrangements, Wit's End. The emphasis on the apostrophe in the title itself need say no more.

But more we shall say. McCombs immediately announces his latest musical incarnation with the harrowing yet gorgeous 'County Line'.  Vocal arrangements are meticulously constructed to give full emotional affect to the obtuse lyrics. You get the feeling that although McCombs has been crossing lines of authority and control in his itinerant wanderings, he's never quite comfortable in how he'll be received on his return home. Cue the new video for the track with its penchant for highlighting the outsider, the without, the excluded. The absolute and essential melancholic beauty of 'The Lonely Doll' instantly lets us know that the opening track was not a one off in terms of quality. The slow waltz burns throughout replete with skilful brushwork and a simple childlike xylophone hook as McCombs takes us through an unsettling tale of a drunk and his eternally suffering wife.

The chamber like 'Buried Alive' continues that mood and contains a nod early 2000's ode to the French duo, Air with its pulse like interludes among McCombs simple chord structures and deadpan vibrato. The piano bar like simplicity of 'Saturday Song' with its repetitive ebbing piano chord could almost have you transporting yourself to atop a swish New York hotel only to find a dose of honesty present rather than the usual flakes and fakes.

The second half of the album begins with the carousel yet funereal like, 'Memory's Stain', with McCombs trembling voice and the instrumentation of harpsicord and baritone clarinet being utilised to great hypnotic effect across the tracks second half ushering itself carefully to its conclusion. You get the feeling that something's gone very wrong somewhere when the quick two step on the initially childlike 'Hermit's Cave' is rudely interrupted by a repeated loud hit of the snare, sounding almost like a gun shots. Repeated listens will reveal its appropriateness.

 'Pleasant Shadow Song' continues McCombs penchant for circular chord structures as guitar wraps around his vocals, intertwining one another in perfect symmetry. The final song, 'A Knock Upon The Door' is a ragtime waltz that runs just shy of ten minutes uses woodwinds and brass to full effect as a relentless bell is struck throughout. McCombs sets up the story of an would-be artist who would sell his soul and his muse, that is his creativity, to the highest bidder as he awaits that knock upon the door.

While McCombs borrows heavily from traditional structures in a music sense on Wit's End he nevertheless has created something that renders them something only he in his uniqueness could produce. It sees him keeping company with the lineage of great songwriters; Cohen, Drake, Taylor and Smith, such is the fullness that marks this album. McCombs remarked in a rare written 'interview' recently that he wrote the album for those who are already on board and he congratulated Domino, his label since 2007, 'for having his back'. And there is a very real danger that some may not come with him on this one, such is the sparse change in direction. But such independence of mind are what distinguished and distinguishes the careers of the aforementioned quartet. While I might be castigated for throwing McCombs in with these luminaries, I too care little for what others, who don't get it or can't appreciate the fundamentally important contributions being made in music today, may think.

James Stocker - June 3, 2011.

Memory's Stain

Cass McCombs (USA)

From the album, 'Wit's End', Domino.

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