Twice over the course of the last week I had the opportunity to witness one of my favorite bands, the National, as they transitioned from small clubs to big stages. The group had the unenviable show-opening, 7pm “crack-of-dawn” slot on the REM tour (Modest Mouse was sandwiched in between). Watching the band handily upscale and triumph (at both shows the audience was rapturous by the end of their set) got me thinking about my own personal history with the band, and the evolution of the indie paradigm over the last few years.
A quick warning at the outset: this entry is full of personal anecdotes. If you don’t like that kind of thins — and, man, I can’t blame you if you don’t — you may want to skip.
I’ve been charting the progress of the National for seven years now. A few weeks after their first album came out, I wrote a longish profile feature on them for Atlanta Creative Loafing. It was the first long piece the band had written about them, and they seemed as unsure about how to answer as I was over what to ask. They had all just relocated from Ohio to New York, and all of them were slogging through day jobs while waiting for the band to take off. When I called Matt Berninger, it was during some down time during his day working for a web design company. We talked a little too much about the idea of self-loathing (which perhaps says more about me at the time than it does about the band), and about the idea of having to deal with a day job in order to do the thing you love (I was working as a guidance counselor while trying to make inroads as a freelance rock critic). Mostly, though, we talked about Matt’s lyrics. “With these songs, there’s a lot I got out of my system,” he told me. “The songwriters that have the most impact on me are the ones that expose a lot of personal things in interesting ways, in honest ways. That might be indulgent, but I’d rather take that chance and walk that line than to be too safe or too saccharine.” A few weeks later I saw them play for about 7 people at a bar in Philadelphia.
The next time I talked to them was in 2003. They’d just released Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers, which I became convinced was the record that was going to catapult them into indie stardom (I was wrong about this, as I often am about these things). We met at Fish Bar in NYC for trivia night as part of an elaborate concept for a MAGNET piece I was writing on them (I learned that night that trying to interview a band while also playing competitive bar trivia is colossally stupid). We got drunker and increasingly confident of our wild answers (Bryan Devendorf helpfully provided the name of the inventor of the miniskirt — a question that had clearly stumped the people around us). At one point, there was a lengthy discussion about whether or not calling a friend to have them Google an answer consituted cheating (the verdict: it did). They talked about their struggles with songwriting. There was one song in particular they just couldn’t seem to nail. They’d worked it and re-worked it, tried it slow, tried it fast, but Matt said it looked like it was almost certainly headed for the scrap heap. It was a weird, obstinate little number the band was calling “Abel.” Near the end of the night, all of us far drunker than we should be, I expressed disbelief that labels weren’t pounding the band’s door down. They all shot each other uneasy looks, and Bryce leaned over and conspiratorally confessed: “Don’t put this in your article, because it’s not 100% official yet, but we just signed to Beggars.” Because the owners of Fish Bar are not exactly prompt, I ended up stumbling out before the trivia prizes were awarded. When I emerged from the subway 45 minutes later, I had a phone message from Bryce: team National had taken top prize at Fish Bar trivia.
A few weeks after that I saw them play a bar in Brooklyn for an audience of 12. Although Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers was still brand new, they played almost nothing from it, concentrating instead on songs that would eventually turn up on Alligator, including a particularly fiery version of “Lit Up.” When the record was finally released in 2005 I thought, “Surely, this will be the one that breaks them.” And, initially, I was wrong again. Alligator got an OK review in Pitchfork, but very little happened after that. When I interviewed Matt a few months after its release, it was clear the dead-ending was starting to get to him. “We’ve been doing this for five years,” he said, “and in those five years we’ve seen so many younger, cooler-looking dudes pop up and become superstars. You look at some of those bands and you think, ‘God, they put a lot of effort into the way they look.” And then he quickly, humbly added, “I mean, I put a lot of effort in, too. The difference is that I get nowhere with it.” I saw the band 5 or 6 times that year, and the audience never seemed to crack 100. That same year, the band decided to take a little-known NY band called Clap Your Hands Say Yeah on tour with them. About a week into that tour, Pitchfork lauded the Clap Your Hands record. The audiences for the shows doubled in size, but the crowd thinned considerably the instant CYHSY wrapped up. In a documentary about the band shot during that time period, there’s a scene of Bryce in a van, listening as two radio DJs play a Clap Your Hands Say Yeah song, and talk about the double-bill that night. The DJs spent five or six solid minutes fawning over CYH as this generation’s next great band, causing Bryce to wonder out loud, “Let’s see what they say about us.” The answer, when it came, was devastating: they said nothing.
It went on like this for a while, and from a great distance I found myself becoming depressed on the band’s behalf. It was a personal irritant: this band was writing songs that resonated deeply with me, songs about trying to act young even though you know you’re getting old, songs about romantic blunders and the tyranny of day-to-day obligation. Their albums were deliberate slow-burners — they weren’t fleeting crushes, they were lifelong romances. I was bothered that no one, it seemed, wanted to put in the work anymore — no one wanted to spend time letting a record seep into their pores. I couldn’t figure out what it was that was keeping so many people from falling in love with this band.
Then, and it’s hard to say when or how, something changed. That song they’d been slaving over, “Abel,” started catching on, and soon the shows got fuller and fuller. When Boxer was released in 2007, the week of shows at New York’s Bowery Ballroom sold out in minutes. Seeing them that night was a revelation: a room full of people belting out every word, feeling and understanding every word. I had goosebumps for 90 minutes solid. A few weeks later I talked to Matt again, and he was candid about the difficulties the band faced in getting Boxer from concept to execution.
I got to witness that same slow falling-in-love happen at both Jones Beach and Madison Square Garden this past week, albeit over a much shorter timespan. The group was augmented by two horn players and longtime compatriot Padma Newsome on violin. The reception at first was tentative, but as the set progressed, the band’s grip around the audience tightened. They were astonishing: their songs, so small and personal on record, were easily expanded to fill those large rooms. They were sweeping and potent and passionate, most of them building to feverish crescendos, huge mad whirling dervishes of sound. By the end of their set on both nights, the audience was rapturous — hooting and cheering and clapping in ways they absolutely were not at the end of Modest Mouse’s set an hour later. Pairing the National with REM made perfect sense: they were two bands that relied on cockeyed songwriting and hyper-literate lyrics, two bands that required a measure of patience to fully appreciate. REM established the model that the National followed: a slow, steady build, finding fans slowly over the course of several albums instead of all-at-once, out of the gate. Seeing the band onstage at Madison Square Garden, the biggest venue in the city where they live, crappy day jobs a distant memory, I felt so happy for them.
Which got me thinking in general about the increasingly stunted career arc for indie bands in the ’00s. The National are the rare exception: it seems these days that the audience’s attention is focused on a band’s first record and, often, nothing after that. It seems almost ridiculous now to think that audiences were showing up to that tour in 2005 for Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, so greatly has that band’s stature shrunk. I’m beginning to wonder if sticking by an artist for the length of their career is an idea that’s growing out of fashion. Does anyone want a ’second record’ anymore? Are audiences willing to stick by bands for the five years it took the National to fully blossom? Or for the decade it took REM to do the same? Is the future one where bands make one hot record and vanish completely? Is it antiquated, old-fashioned and lame to hope we get a few “career artists” out of this promising crop of indie bands?
I don’t know what the answer is, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. It panned out for the National, but will other young bands be given that same chance?
“I’m beginning to wonder if sticking by an artist for the length of their career is an idea that’s growing out of fashion. Does anyone want a ’second record’ anymore? Are audiences willing to stick by bands for the five years it took the National to fully blossom? Or for the decade it took REM to do the same? Is the future one where bands make one hot record and vanish completely? Is it antiquated, old-fashioned and lame to hope we get a few “career artists” out of this promising crop of indie bands?”
People still stick by indie artists. Consider the slow-burning to simmering careers of The New Pornographers, Cat Power, The Shins, Iron & Wine, Calexico, The Hold Steady, My Morning Jacket, and many others. I don’t know how many records they’re selling, but they’ve had consistent buzz and support, and they seem to play to increasingly larger audiences (with some help from the music-festival concept, I admit).
But in another sense, you’re right. People’s attention spans seem to be shorter. There is too much to be exposed to, and the quick-information age has shaved people’s patience, both of which leads to audiences being somewhat more fickle.
By the way, if its next record is great, CYHSY’s stature will grow to its previous heights. Even fickle audiences love a comeback story.
I found the REM comment interesting, since IMO the best work they did was in their early period, by a huge margin. In fact their IRS material is the only thing I like from them.
In that case more time made them worse.
I found the REM comment interesting, too, in light of my discussion with Joe (in the comments of this blog) about REM’s new disc. I’ve got it now — used record bins! — and I stand by what I said before. It’s well-intentioned, and I like the idea of it, but the melodies and hooks aren’t there (and those are crucial components of REM’s best work).
I guess I should have been clearer about the REM comment — I was thinking more in terms of commercial attention and success than artistic success. It was a full decade before REM amassed a significant number of fans, and that fanbase grew organically, over time — similar to what I see happening to the National.
(The artistic end is up for debate. There are only 2 REM records I think are flat-out garbage, both of them released within the last decade).
I’ve been wondering if the digital download model isn’t killing music in a much different way than what RIAA is worried about. There’s still plenty of money to be made, especially in selling concert tickets and merchandise, but people just have so many options of music to listen to. This is one of the things I love about emusic but at the same time it can be occasionally frustrating; there’s just so much music! (Particularly relevant to me tonight because I’ve been backing up some things to clear a little space on my hard drive.) And I don’t even do any of the file sharing stuff; I get almost all my music from emusic. But If I think back to the time when I was getting really hooked on certain bands, I was purchasing probably 1-2 albums a month; where now I get 10-15 albums, plus all the free stuff . . . and don’t get me wrong it’s great, but sometimes I feel I lack the time to really get to know a particular piece. I honestly can’t imagine what it must be like to have free access to the emusic stacks. Is it hard to listen to something that doesn’t instantly grab you more than once? I wonder this when I read a lot of criticism too, especially Ptichfork; I wonder how many times people listen to a particular album before they slap the rating on it … is that 8.7 all just based on surface glitter? Did they give that 4.3 album some time to grow on them?
And as I rambled on Deastro came up on my ipod rotation. I really like this album . . . one of my favorites from the selects yet. And it reminds me why I found the selects series so exciting in the first place . . . because it’s music put out by people who are big fans of the music, and who are selling the music because they like the bands not for personal profit. It’s a great beacon amid all the many things a person can listen to; “hey give this a chance we like it maybe you will too.”
So all of that to say basically Joe; the small bands still have a chance because you and a few others like you are giving them that chance. Keep up the good work and thanks!
I know this isn’t an REM thread but I just wanted to say, I haven’t heard anything from them that was flat out garbage (though a lot of their work I have not heard, including most recent stuff). I’m just saying the only stuff that I personally -really- love from them is the IRS stuff. Didn’t mean to sound as if I was slagging them off.
And I understand now that you are referring to success/popularity which is of course very different from subjective interpretations of quality…
I definitely spend less time with each album than I used to. It’s not even that I get bored with albums, it’s that I have 75 downloads per month, plus a few subscriptions to Song of the Day podcasts, plus music my friends give me…the end result being I can love a band one month and get so distracted the next that I forget about it.
It’s a trade-off of the Internet age–more bands to listen to, and less time to spend with each one. It’s why posts like yours are important. I put Boxer on for the first time in many months after reading your post.
porieux: def. understand where you’re coming from on REM. ’sall good.
It’s funny — I end up getting affected by the “too much music” phenomenon in a different way: because I’m so old-school in my music listening habits, I’ll get stuck on one record for a few weeks at a time. As a consequence, I start getting anxiety about all the really great stuff that’s passing me by just because I can’t seem to stop listening to, say, J-Live or Shearwater. There are so many records that I keep “meaning” to get to — so many records that I know I’d probably love — and I’m afraid I’m just going to end up missing them. A classic example of this is the Thao record. I know Yancey loves it, and has been recommending it to me for weeks. The few times I’ve listened to it I’ve loved it, but I know I haven’t given that record the attention it deserves.
I also end up giving up on ever listening to a record once it’s past a certain point — which is even more ridiculous. Once the hype cycle has cooled on a band, I end up thinking, “Well, I guess I’ll just never listen to that one.” Meanwhile, I have friends who are super-casual music listeners who are just getting into Arcade Fire. My internal silent knee-jerk response is, “Good God, man, where have you been?”
“I also end up giving up on ever listening to a record once it’s past a certain point — which is even more ridiculous. Once the hype cycle has cooled on a band, I end up thinking, ‘Well, I guess I’ll just never listen to that one.’”
I’m sometimes the same way. But maybe it’s good to wait a while. There’s a pretty predictable arc for critical/music snob reaction to an album. Over-the-top praise upon its release, a overly-harsh backlash to show that the late-coming critics are more discriminating than their contemporaries, and then, in time, a re-acceptance of (and appreciation for) the disc.
Another example of a band that has nurtured and maintained a loyal core following as its audience has grown: Low.
(best rock band in America now, BTW/IMHO).
Joe, you’ve quite nicely described the same vibe that prevailed at the show I saw in Cincinnati almost exactly a year ago. The crowd LOVED the band. Not enjoyed, not found them pleasant…LOVED them. People were jumping up and down, unironically pumping their fists, screaming every word. It was beautiful, and, much like you, I also had goosebumps the entire time.
It was the kind of show that restores the Belief (capital B intentional) that music is not a diversion but a life-giving element, essential to the sense of oneself as a feeling, loving human being. I walk out of most shows thinking, “That band was pretty good” or “That was a hell of a good time.” I walked out of the National show feeling that the core of my being had shifted, even if only slightly, in the direction of the highest and best things we can know–and be–in this life. I can say that about a few other shows I’ve seen, but there aren’t many.
Thanks for the wonderful, insightful personal reflection on one of the truly great bands of our time.
I love this thread! So many things I’ve been thinking about in terms of my musical listening habits…lately, I seem to be more of a collector than a listener. But I do find myself wanting to have a long-term relationship with a band, and I can think of several bands that have broken up after their first or second album–I thought what a shame it was, because I was ready to “commit” to them.
Anyway, I’m wondering which emusic bands/artists are “worthy” in this way. Which ones are REM-style career musicians, whose whole catalog is worth owning? Sloan and Spoon are ones I’ve recently found myself downloading all of. Who else?
Wow. Great post. I’ve only had the pleasure to see The National twice. And it’s been a year since the last time. After that show, I made a playlist of the set list–and no matter how many times I listen to it, I get amazed all over again.
I debated much over whether to see the REM/MM/National show as it rolled through town. I clicked in at the remhq-pre-sale time, but couldn’t pull the trigger on passable hundred dollar seats near the front. I had seen REM many times back in the day when they used to be my fabourite band, and I was really worried about seeing one of my current favourite bands (The National) play to a disinterested crowd as they trickled in. And I didn’t bother to get a still-expensive lawn seat. Apparently the National (and REM) played a pretty good show.
As far as the “sticking with a band” thing goes. I can give a comment from a senior perspective. I’m 46, you see. With REM, I bought everything. LP. Singles. A couple bootlegs. When CDs came out, I bought it all again. I bought the d-lux ones. Of course I’ve lost interest in them in the more recent past. Accelerate is fine. But, the early stuff was great. I will always have interest in REM, because I grew up with them as my music.
Elvis Costello and Nick Lowe were other early artists that I would buy each and every album. And many others from that era. But, I have little interest in seeing these people as they continue in their multi-decade careers.
Part of it is how much money they want to see them play. I can see over four different shows in small clubs of up and coming bands for the price of the REM ticket. Some of those bands I will fall in love with. Like I did a couple years ago with the National.
Most people have no clue how much amazing music is contained on eMusic, because they’ve probably only heard of less than 10% of the artists. They’ll stick with who they knew.
It does take effort to seek out good music. Even great bands have difficulty making more than three or four gems. Good bands a couple. And then there are bands like CYHSY that make one that sticks (God, I haven’t played that one in ages…)
Over the years I started out reading Trouser Press, then SPIN, then the internet to find reviews and recommendations. Every once in a while you find a heart-felt article like the one above that hopefully gets someone else into a great band like the National.
It takes me many many listens before I can make an album “my own”. And isn’t that what you really want? Don’t you want the music to become part of you? I do. But I’ve also found that I seem to listen less and less than I used to.
Man, when REM’s Green came out, I must have listened to it a thousand times (and I don’t even like that album that much compared to the ones before it). But nowadays, I find I “check out” a band that someone recommends, which means I listen to them once and think yeah that’s good. But you really need to beat yourself over the head with an album before you can judge whether or not it is going to become a part of your life. Hell, if I had given “Drums and Wires” one listen, think of what I would have missed all this time.
Here are a few bands that I’ve found have withstood the test of time with me over the last few years:
School for the Dead, Invisible Cities, Sam Philips, and My Morning jacket
Life long friends:
Robyn Hitchcock, XTC, REM, Elvis Costello, Velvet Underground etc. – Though, XTC, REM, and Elvis have been consistently losing my attention over the last decades.
It may come down to availability. In those old days, it was a rare treat for me to get a new album. It was something precious that needed to be savored. These days I can get a new album in the time it took you to read this comment.
Individual M&Ms aren’t that great when you have a 5 pound bag of them.
So glad to see Sam Phillips get a shout — I feel like she’s so underrated. Her last three records are as good as anything she’s ever done.
Over the last few years, I’ve started to notice a pattern: records I like right out of the gate are rarely records I’m listening to a month later. Records I’m only slightly sold on at first tend to be the ones that stick around. There are always exceptions, but it’s trending that way more and more for me lately. The one huge exception is Headlights’ Some Racing, Some Stopping, which I loved the first time I heard it and continue to love to this day.
Really great post … I agree with much of it, and it was great to hear a take on The National from the perspective of a long-time follower. When I think of the whole “focus on the first album and then nothing else” phenomenon, I immediately think of The Strokes. Seems like this lack of patience with developing bands affects other parts of the entertainment biz, too, particularly TV. Maybe some think Arrested Development was given plenty of opportunity to be successful and just sunk on its own, but I think many would disagree.
Anyway, I can absolutely vouch for the reaction to The National on their current tour, too. I am a longtime REM fan who has never managed to see them live (they don’t come to AZ much, but who does?) so I headed to Berkeley at the end of May to catch them at the Greek Theatre. I was absolutely there to see REM, although I had heard some good things about The National and was excited to hear them live. They completely won me over with their set, and based on the reaction of the crowd (which definitely grew louder as their set progressed) I think they gained a lot of new fans that night. They definitely outshined Modest Mouse.
I downloaded Alligator and Boxer before I left for Berkeley, and although I didn’t get to listen to much of it before the concert, I’ve been listening to Boxer almost constantly ever since.
Nice post. I’m a latecomer to the National — a friend was trying to convince me of their brilliance during the ‘Alligator’ period in ‘05 — but I’m quite smitten now. It’s illuminating to read about their old-school buildup.
Hi Joe! Thanks for the most thoughtful article. You know, I almost think The National is the sort of band for whom digression-laden personal-anecdote-style analysis is only natural and fitting. Their music always feels like the confession of closely held secrets and fears, to me. Stuff you wish you had someone to talk to about, and if you don’t, it helps a little that you can hear someone singing about it…
I came late to The National. I heard Boxer and it sunk its hooks into me to the point where now I pretty much want all music to sound like The National (I’m exaggerating—but only a little). Within a few weeks I’d gone to their website and ordered everything else they’d ever released. The last 2 albums and EPs are in constant rotation for me, but the first 2 albums haven’t clicked to the same level. (Though I happened upon a muxtape that had “Available” on it the other day and caught myself rocking out pretty thoroughly.) I don’t know whether that speaks to their development more than to my personal tastes, as I’m a little bit of a whore for violin & other classical instruments, so Boxer and Cherry Tree were going to be right up my alley. Either way, I can’t swear that if I’d heard them when you did, I’d've become the borderline-obsessive fan that I am now.
It’s an interesting question, anyway, but I’m not sure it’s necessarily super-relevant for a lot of bands. One of the guys said in “A Skin, A Night” that it took until the end of touring for Alligator for them to have paid off the costs of their first albums. How many bands are in a position to take on that kind of debt for that long? The “office job” aspect of The National’s story is sufficiently novel in the industry that it’s like central to the band’s creation mythology now, but maybe more groups should try it: I’d venture to guess that the more typical “younger, cooler-looking dudes” wouldn’t have the resources to keep on trucking through their 4th or 5th release before waking up to discover they’re bona fide rock stars.
The industry’s love of the young/shiny/new almost *has* to mean that most bands coming up get one shot at burning so bright that the heat actually lasts. Don’t you think? I’m not saying that the music-listening public’s attention span isn’t pretty ADHD; I’m saying that even if it weren’t, the economic structures of making music & getting heard don’t really seem to encourage slow burn.
That’s my theory, anyway. Whatever the nature of the odds that were stacked against them, I’m pathetically grateful to the universe that The National has made it anyway. I didn’t see them with REM (the Monster tour was plenty arena-sized REM for me) and Modest Mouse (who I like a lot more when Mark Kozelek’s doing the singing), but so happy for them that they’re at that level, even if it means I may never see them at a BAM or a Messiah College type venue again.
[ @Daniel, Esq: If last.fm can be believed, apparently The National opened for Low in Europe in 2002. When time travel finally gets invented, I'll see you there, ok? ]
[omg, I might've just quadruple-posted an absolute ton of bloviating prolixity... if so, I'm *really sorry*... the captcha kept coming up a broken image for me.]
I opted not to see the REM/MM/National tour because I was lukewarm on seeing REM, didn’t want to see MM at all, and thought I’d be disappointed to see The National for only 30 minutes or so. Fortunately, like Michelle said, they played Messiah College a few weeks before the big tour started and I was able to see them in a small venue, 10 minutes from home, for an hour and a half show.
I can’t tell you how many albums I have now that I haven’t listened to many times. Some might be decent but I’ve downloaded something else and have moved on (and rarely will I go back to do more than just listen to occasionally); others get a listen or two and then I go back to an album that I actually am getting into.
When Boxer cam out, I listened to it pretty much non-stop for a few months. That’s not an exaggeration. What happened to the other albums I downloaded during that time? I definitely use all of my dl’s each month, so they fall into the “didn’t receive a fair chance” category, most likely. The Hold Steady’s “Boys and Girls in America” is another album that pushed other albums out of rotation for a long time. And they, like The National, have become a band that I devoted time and money to so that I could explore back catalog, see them live, look up lyrics/possible song meanings online. I just don’t have the time to do that with all of the albums I get each month.
i think you’re a bit off with the REM analogy – I remember when Murmur came out and it was truly an underground sensation. A defining moment of the ’80s underground that just about every left-of-center, college radio-listening kid who was remotely clued-in knew about. They had the kind of success that today’s up-and-coming indie bands dream about right out of the gate. when REM got “big” – it was major label, mainstream baby-boomer big – the kind of success that most of today’s indie bands will, sadly, never see. It’s just a different world out there today, narrowcast and microsegmented all to hell.
Love the post, but I think it’s a little off to consider this take on The National in the context of eMusic.
The affair you describe (and which many of the posters are recollecting from their own pasts) is of sitting with an album, listening, getting to know it, forming a relationship with it. That model is harder to replicate in an eMusic-like environment. It is, I agree, related to volume: coming home from a store with 1 record and focusing on it is harder to replicate when you’re downloading lots of stuff at once from a swath of artists, genres, etc. No one is going to build a relationship with Boxer if they just download 2 of the tracks, stick it in a mix with Okkervil River and Spoon and El-P and whatever else and let it shuffle through.
Joe – I have the same exact problem that you have — specifically I can’t stop listening to the new Shearwater.
But I agree with all that there is so much music out there that it can be difficult to spend the necessary time with certain artists. I have found that most of my friends that are true music lovers stick with the artists through their career trajectory. There are definitely a handful though, that like the new hot artist and then move onto the next relatively quickly.
I saw the National/MM/REM tour in Chicago — people were loving the National by the end and I too was very impressed with their ability to play to an arena.
The Shearwater is a great example of patience yielding huge dividends. I did not like that record when I first heard it — I thought it was way too pretentious, theatrical and self-consciously “arty.” As sometimes happens, though, something kept pulling me back. Now, I can’t imagine I ever disliked it it’s, like, Scott Walker Tilt good; really unsettling and mystic and weird, and all the operatic vocal flourishes feel more ominous and doomy than pretentious.
Back in March, the Walkmen were scheduled to play a show here in Florida with Vampire Weekend opening. The show sold out quickly, but VW was subsequently booked for SNL on the same night, so they cancelled their appearance at this Florida show– but the Walkmen still came…and 12 people showed up.
“The Shearwater is a great example of patience yielding huge dividends. I did not like that record when I first heard it — I thought it was way too pretentious, theatrical and self-consciously ‘arty.’”
And, let me add, dreary and flat-sounding and what I think of when I hear someone describe the kind of music I normally like as “indie-schmindie.” To be fair, though, I’ve given Shearwater as much of a chance as I’ve given Okerville River (i.e., almost none).
Man, if you at all tilt toward Scott Walker or Roxy Music, spend more time with that thing. If not, then you can safely pass!
I like both of those (and I love Roxy Music). OTOH, I can’t stand most Okerville River, and I consider Shearwater a close cousin of that band.
So if I dislike OR, would you still recommend Shearwater? If you say ”yes,” I’ll have heard enough and I’ll go ahead and download it.
I actually don’t think the two sound alike at all, so it’s safe to say you can dislike OR but like Shearwater. Maybe try a track or two on Rook to see if you warm up to it? Like I said, it took me several listens. But once I was in, I was hooked.