Record #126: The Decemberists – The Crane Wife (2006)

The tragic thing about the Decemberists is that their greatest asset is also their biggest liability.

They’re universally lauded or discounted as bookworm friendly, concept heavy, occasionally prog-leaning folk rock, and if you don’t have time for lyrics you need to look up in the dictionary or 12 minute three-part folk-prog suites (namely “The Island”), then don’t even bother.

But, as often as that description is used disparagingly, it’s used by fans to describe why they love the Decemberists–because some people love parsing lyrics and trilogies of songs based on Japanese folk tales that appear out of order on the album, and some of these people also love that the lead guitarist is also credited with playing hurdy-gurdy on the album (unsurprisingly, the Decemberists are from Portland).

According to Wikipedia, one reviewer referred to The Crane Wife as “the best Jethro Tull album since Heavy Horses.” While there’s obviously some liberties taken with that comparison (Colin Meloy doesn’t play the flute, nor does he share Ian Anderson’s fascination with medieval music), there’s also some truth–all of the band members are credited with more than two instruments, they slide easily between straight folk (“The Crane Wife 3” and prog (“The Perfect Crime #2”), and are accused by Robert Christgau of being pretentious (what was that about the pot and the kettle?).

But Meloy’s skill isn’t in his ability to conjure up songs about historic European gangs or Japanese folklore, but his ability to create melodies that make such dense lyrics listenable. Likewise, the group’s greatest talent as musicians isn’t their mastery of European and Appalachian ethnic instruments (bouzouki, pump organ, accordion, hurdy-gurdy, cello, banjo, pedal steel, dulcimer) or their ability to solo like Yes (the second part of “The Island”), but in their awareness of when to be subtle and when to overplay–they’re just as effective in the mostly acoustic “Shankill Butchers” as they are in any of the prog-solos they embark on. And at sixty verbose minutes of length, The Crane Wife is undeniably a demanding listen, but it’s also a rewarding one.