As I have mentioned many times before, I somehow went a decade and a half without hearing Manchester Orchestra, despite hearing their name constantly. I decided to change this last year and instantly became a fan.
And just in time too, because shortly after that point, they released The Million Masks of God, a dazzling technicolor spectacular that is as catchy, aggressive, lush, heavy, and emotive as anything they’ve ever released.
I mentioned in my last post that I’ve had a hard time tracing the arc of Manchester Orchestra’s career. Most acts seem to have some sort of artistic trajectory with individual albums acting as mile markers thereon. For instance, a punk band may become more cerebral over time (e.g., Fugazi) or an alternative band may become more experimental (e.g., Radiohead). Andy Hull & Co are less easily categorized. Each album might dwell in a different sonic palette, but they don’t trace a clear route through their changes. For a bit, it seemed like A Black Mile to the Surface signified a shift toward folk-tinged pop sensibilities. Cope was more aggressive than Simple Math, but it seemed to be a momentary detour (the acoustic version Hope gave further evidence to that idea).
However, that delineation completely fell apart the moment “Bed Head” was released. It retained the big-budget sheen of Black Mile, but it used those tools to entirely different affect. Buzzing electric guitars churned alongside clattering drum machines, layers of piano, and whirring synthesizers. The urgency of the track is underpinned with an airy vocal melody, the final minutes burning with an explosive climax. The skittering “Keel Timing” didn’t do anything to signal a return to the more subdued sound of Black Mile, but the delicate “Telepath” promised an album that couldn’t be easily pinned down.
To that point, the Wikipedia article mentions that the album received “comparisons to Mumford & Sons, Band of Horses, Tool, Simon & Garfunkel, Silversun Pickups, My Morning Jacket, and Muse.” I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Mumford & Sons and Tool listed together in the description for a single album, but it actually makes sense here. Million Masks is filled to the brim with catchy melodicism, but it’s underpinned in almost every track with spatial experimentalism and unexpected choices.
Album opener “Inaudible” starts out with the same sort of wooded cathedral folksiness from Black Mile, but halfway through, the acoustic guitars and major key harmonies are derailed by a wall of synths and a loping drum beat, signaling a mood change that lasts through the first side. Songs bleed into each other without ceasing, the closing chord of “Angel of Death” being interrupted by the driving drums of “Keel Timing,” itself closing with the drum machine that opens “Bed Head.” The mournful and brooding “Annie” closes the first side with proggy guitars, borrowed chords, and a cathartic chorus.
Side B is a bit more subdued, with more acoustic guitars and fewer synthesizers. But this is hardly a retread of the previous album’s woodsy matte finish. The electronic treatments that dominate Side A are still here, adding a chromatic depth to the sonic palette. “Let It Storm” starts off as subdued as “Telepath,” until it bursts with digital noise and pounding drums in the chorus. “Obstacle” undermines its acoustic guitars and radio-ready harmonies with angular drums and a wash of glistening pads. Closer “The Internet” buries rhythm & blues sensibilities under pillowy keyboards, heavily effected piano loops, and a blistering fuzz guitar solo. “Dinosaur” is the one obvious exception to the more subdued soundscape of the B side, grooving on a dark bassline and drum machine, reprising the lyrics from “Keel Timing” to one of the heaviest moments on the record.
Sonics aside, this album wouldn’t work nearly as well if it weren’t for Hull’s stunning songwriting. The whole album is filled with almost-homophones that manage to mean far more than clever wordplay, such as the opening of “Inaudible” where he trades out “inaudible” and “an audible,” or in “Way Back” where he alternates between choruses of “Way back” and “wave back.” In “Bed Head,” he prays “let me relinquish and start to distinguish my past and my time.” In “Dinosaur,” one chorus says, “Love me know, I will not repeat myself. Love me now, all I do is repeat myself.” He later replaces that last line with “I cannot redeem myself.”
When he isn’t twisting his own tongue into new meanings, he’s lobbing emotional grenades like, “you’re the one I wanted, want now, want when I am old.” Perhaps the most arresting lyric to me, though I can’t explain why, is in “Angel of Death” where he declares, “I arrive on the hood of your step-father’s Lincoln,” a purely surreal image that is somehow instantly evocative.
Had I not taken the time to explore Manchester Orchestra before this album, there’s a very good chance I would have been drawn to this record by the hype anyway. And even without the context of their body of work, this likely would have become one of my favorite albums of the year anyway. But in its place in their catalog, I appreciate Hull’s songwriting and the band’s arranging and production on this album even more. It is a truly magnetic album, and is sure to remain a favorite.