The atmosphere is egalitarian rather than narcissistic; in fact, the mathematical division of lead vocals is almost comical in its precision, with each of the three vocalists getting almost exactly equal time in the spotlight. However, there is a laid-back organic quality that keeps the record from becoming too formulaic. “One of our only rules was that we would only be the four of us playing everything. So that was kind of the one rule, if there was a rule,” said Oberst in a recent interview. Especially on tracks like “Baby Boomer” and “Whole Lotta Losin,” there is a very pleasant “hanging out in the barn laying down jams and drinking PBR” vibe—nothing too striking, just fun, laid-back music made between friends. Ultimately, Monsters of Folk is just that. And it works, especially when these friends happen to be some of the most influential musicians of the decade.
That being said, the album is certainly not without its flaws. Cohesion between tracks is ostensibly sacrificed in favor of cohesion between group members—despite, or perhaps because the communal vibes are so palpable, the result is a loose and rambling record. The album peaks early (as in, first track early) with “Dear God (Sincerely M.O.F.),” which provides a nice abstract and a thematic focus—“if your love’s still around why do we suffer?” asks the poignant chorus, harmonizing over rippling harp and rather unexpected trip-hop beat. The track strikes a meticulous balance between poignant and playful that could be the aim of the record as a whole, though it is never again crystallized in such a way. Consequently, “Dear God” sets a high musical precedent that gets a little lost as the album ambles on for 14 more countrified tracks, thus setting us up for a bit of a letdown.
The particular style of each artist emerges immediately continues to build as the record plays on. Oberst comes across as he always does—overwrought and slightly exasperating, though he is clearly trying to fit in here. Ward on the other hand may come off a bit lazy, adhering to his typically simplistic though certainly not unlikable folk style. He hits his stride however in the gorgeous “Slow Down Jo,” a soothing lullaby that almost sounds like Brightblack Morning Light. Mogis holds it down with smooth production and a winning guitar solo or two, smartly allowing the album to develop with its own natural progression rather than forcing it to be something it’s not.
In the end, despite his egalitarian intentions, this album has Jim James written all over it—he seems to be channeling a recent George Harrison fixation with August’s tribute album and now this, if we’re going to run with the oft-mentioned Traveling Wilburys association. Regardless, everything he’s been doing lately has been infused with a sense of fearless experimentation, and for his part, this album is no exception. He glides humbly from the upbeat pop beats of “Losin Your Head” to the mournful seep of “His Master’s Voice,” and often saves his cohorts from themselves by layering that characteristic swooning falsetto under their ramblings, as in the Oberst-driven “Temazcal.” Jim James is everything we want and need in a musician in this day and age—wildly talented but delightfully unpretentious, a Renaissance man rather than an egotistical rock star. And he puts on a fantastic show.
Grade: B+
Review by Hilary Cadigan
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