It’s been almost exactly four years since Justin Vernon and various members of Collections of Colonies of Bees and All Tiny Creatures teamed up under the name Volcano Choir and released their sparse debut Unmap. Now, a lot — and I mean a lot — has changed for the comrades of this Wisconsin all-star-team-of-sorts in the last four years, especially for Vernon when he delivered the enormous and confusingly not-self-titled Bon Iver, Bon Iver in 2011. This album specifically served as a catapult for Vernon to foray into a number of other ventures, and because of his fame these various projects potentially received more attention than they should have.
Which brings me back to the new Volcano Choir record, Repave. In some ways the album fulfills the initial promise of “Island, IS,” the project’s kick-ass first single. Whereas Unmap failed to be a cohesive front-to-back record with tracks that mirrored “Island,” Repave finds Volcano Choir dispersing a solid 40 minutes of music over eight tracks. Yet even as different as the two albums are, they’ve both left me wondering the same thing: what’s all the fuss about?
Now, don’t get me wrong — the instrumentation throughout Repave is, for the most part, absolutely breathtaking. The band who backs Vernon (comprised of Jon Mueller, Chris Roseneau, Matthew Skemp, Daniel Spack, and Thomas Wincek) takes the listener on a riveting journey through heartbreak and triumph, toying along the way with spare guitar clicks and synth licks that swell into something immensely joyous and huge. No, I don’t have any issues with the music. My quibble is with the lyrics.
I’ve never been one to buy into the mystics of Bon Iver lyrics, and unfortunately Repave doesn’t offer up any nice surprises. And the fact that Vernon doesn’t play a lick of anything besides his own vocal cords on this record — that his sole obligation was to sing and write words — makes his lines especially disappointing. Opener “Tiderays” is a prime example of the made up lyrics and cryptic phrases that run throughout Repave, though the music does one hell of a job trying to compensate for them. The track recalls a crisp autumn morning where dew covers the soundscape; it begins quietly yet ends in militaristic drums that pound straight out of “Perth.”
Curiously, a lot of the tracks here sound like they could be Bon Iver songs. And that may be because of how distinct Vernon’s voice is, but it may also be due to the influence these musicians and friends have had on one another throughout the years. Vernon’s vocals sound superb in both his normal range and falsetto over the warm synth and guitar textures the CoCoBees have become veterans of. And they put those textures to good use on “Acetate,” “Byegone,” and “Comrade” (the other three tracks that make up the first half of Repave), meandering through choruses and verses with layered guitar and vocal clips spliced and stacked until the result is truly staggering. “Byegone” and “Comrade” are especially great: the former is one of my favorite Justin Vernon-related tracks ever; the latter is a swarm of guitar pulses and snippets that remain disoriented yet immensely pleasing. And anytime Justin is going to drop eff-bombs in auto-tune, well sign me the eff up.
But that auto-tune also does an excellent job of covering up the lyrics, which become especially visible when Vernon drops into his lower register. “Alaskans” is a slow and painstakingly crafted song that serves as a much needed breather from the shout-along first half, yet the track suffers immensely from lyrics that leave less than a pinky finger to grasp onto. “Dancepack” is handicapped in much the same way, though the lyrical shit show here is quite literal. But “Dancepack” has another qualm, as does penultimate track “Keel”: both are seemingly without a melody, and their repetitive nature is all too tiring. It’s strange that the album’s two worst tracks are back to back on the ass-end of the record; they all but kill Repave‘s momentum entirely.
Which is too bad, because “Almanac” boasts a return to form and showcases what Volcano Choir does best: thumping guitar pulses paired with gorgeous, nonsense-spewing vocals that build up to one hell of a catharsis. It’s an oddly fitting end to an album with a nearly perfect first half and a confused, troubled second one. But then again, Volcano Choir was always about getting high and having a good time with your buds. And if my memory serves me right, it’s always harder to not lose the plot during the second half of the night.
Repave