[rating=9.0]
The title of Wye Oak’s latest record, “Civilian,” announces a fairly integral debate waged over the album’s ten tracks– what exactly is normalcy, and does it exist objectively in our collective consciousness beyond abstraction? In the press release for Civilian, Jenn Wasner (one half of Wye Oak) indicates that she chose the title “because I believe everyone wants to be normal, but no one truly is.” While she is definitive in her statement, her lyrics on the album approach this discussion with far more ambiguity and nuance. In fact, Wasner often rejects conventional observation of the human experience, and instead immerses in esoteric existential reflections. The lyrics read more as poetry than social assessments, which in turn allows the listener the space to enter into the discussion of normalcy. In the end, though, one gets too caught up in the rich depth of the album’s ten songs, and instead spend the forty minutes it takes to complete Civilian swimming in the marvelous euphony of the album.
Wasner’s embrace of emotional vulnerability and rawness, matched with Andy Stack’s musical virtuosity, provide Civilian with the backbone that make it their best effort since they started releasing music in 2006. Whereas their previous records If Children (2008) and The Knot (2009) conjured up relentless similarities to mid-90s guitar-pop angst, mixed with plenty of Yo La Tengo and Sonic Youth to boot, Civilian is thoroughly rooted in contemporary indie zeitgeist. Even though the album is utterly timely, it is in no way a lesser product; rather, the record typifies the merits of current musical inclinations in 21st century indie-rock. The arrangements of the ten songs all feel vibrant, lush and calculated without coming across as stale. The blended wall of vocal harmonies on top of visceral bass lines and crunchy guitars recall a great deal of Wye Oak’s contemporaries (markedly Beach House, another Baltimore-based dream pop duo), but this certainly isn’t a criticism. Wye Oak has never purported to be changing the landscape of rock music, nor has it truly endeavored to. Instead, they’ve consistently grown since their debut, mixing elements of influence with their own ingenuity, and the shift away from Fleetwood Mac/Neil Young derived indie folk is a welcome move for Wye Oak.
Civilian walks the tightrope between precision and chaos, signaling Wasner and Stack’s keen sense of restraint and growth. Many of the songs on The Knot edged towards greatness, but ultimately fell under the weight of cumbersome arrangements. On Civilian, the songs are fantastically lithe despite the breadth of their orchestration. Surprisingly absent on the record is any semblance of a chorus in their songs, which in turn invites the listener to experience the record wholly and without pause. The ten songs are on surface level fairly monochromatic, but when you explore deeper and surrender to the seduction of the album, you discover that each song is an intricate entity unto itself, but one that essentially is part of a greater being. This is a mark of a truly successful record, and to have achieved this balance on their third attempt is a great feat for Wye Oak.
Wasner and Stack have created a ten song piece of work that in all ways expand the band’s horizons. Emotional profundity and deeper understanding of subtlety demonstrates Wasner’s growth as lead singer and writer, and Stack’s command of a wide multiplicity of instruments exhibits his growing confidence as a musician. Also, the decision to move outside the group in mixing the record reflects Wye Oak’s professional maturity. One of the most frustrating aspects of The Knot was the muddied mix of Wasner’s voice against guitar and drums. The quiet verse/loud chorus device was so overdone in 90’s guitar rock that to revisit it on the majority of that album’s songs seemed to miss charm of nostalgia and simply provide instead exasperation. John Congleton (St. Vincent, Shearwater) lends his talent to Civilian, leveling out a lot of the album’s excesses, and in their place he creates a gorgeous balance between vocals and instruments that allow the ten tracks the necessary room to shine. Stack admits, “It was the most that Jenn and I had ever relinquished control of our music to someone else, but it gave us a chance to step back and see the big picture, whereas on previous recordings we got embroiled in the technical details.” Thankfully, the risk of loosening their grip on the final mix of Civilian turned out to be one of the best decisions Stack and Wasner made with the album.
It would be remiss to disregard Wasner’s lyrical prowess on Civilian. Whereas she has mined the world of interpersonal relationships and the implicit complications therein, her words on this album mark a great leap forward artistically. One of her principal maneuvers is the acknowledgment of idiosyncrasy vis-a-vis a partner/lover. By divulging certain oddities, she actually is able to connect with the listener in a more meaningful way. On the title track, she sings “I still keep my baby teeth in the bedside table with my jewelry / You still sleep in the bed with me / my jewelry and my baby teeth.” At first listen it’s off-putting, but when you listen to the way Wasner turns the phrase, it’s evident that baby teeth act as a replacement for something more universal– that she enters into any union with certain emotional baggage that has the capacity to alienate. And in the closing track “Doubt,” she admits “If you should doubt my heart, remember this / That I would lie to you, if I believed it was right to do.” Wasner’s confession of potential deception is not exactly what is traditionally perceived as romantically acceptable; however, she roots her admission in the capacity for positive constructiveness through doubt and deceit. In fact, it’s remarkably astute, and by allowing herself to be possibly condemned, she reveals her grasp of what it means to be complexly human.
Civilian feels like the most decisively authentic, relaxed and dynamic expression of Wasner and Stack’s talent thus far. The employ of melancholy is neither cloying nor hackneyed; rather, Wasner’s implementation of sorrow and loneliness makes the album wholly relatable. The discussion of normalcy that pervades the ten tracks turns out to be less relevant than the realization that simply questioning convention illuminates our individuality, which is actually what is worth celebrating. This era is vital for the band, as it may be exactly the time that they break through into indie-rock stardom. If there’s ever an album with which to do it, Civilian is it. Come December when everyone is compiling “Best of 2011” lists, Civilian will no doubt be featured abundantly.
