“"Heart of Chambers" made me cry today; in a laundromat no less. I am writing a letter to my parents telling them to stop bickering around my brothers in their post-break-up battles. It's something a son shouldn't have to do.”

~ Kevin Pearson

By Kevin Pearson  |  Send to Friend

Beach House’s new album is called Devotion, so we asked writer Kevin Pearson to devote a week to listening to it.

Monday
A windowless cubicle perhaps isn’t the best place to partake in a Beach House listening session. The Baltimore-based duo deals in gauzy, autumnal pop and perch their artistic hat somewhere between Mazzy Star and Galaxy 500. It’s a sound better suited for lazy hammocks or sepia-tinged country walks. While the white-washed wall of my day job isn’t the best viewpoint, the band has an otherworldly feel to them that can transport you away from any drudgery. Slow, almost robotic beats act as an anchor for the band’s floating mix of organs intertwined with Alex Scally’s delicate and deliberate guitar, which veers from reverb-laden lead lines to perfectly accentuated slide guitar. Atop of all this sits Victoria Legrand’s laconic and breathy vocals. On first listen, it’s the glistening “Gila” that stands out, thanks in part to its immediacy; an attribute that much of the album seems to lack.

Tuesday
Today I rode the El from Center City to Frankford for fingerprinting by the government. I am English, and this is part of the process of becoming an American citizen. As the nuanced new construction of Northern Liberties gave way to the urban decay that blights North East Philadelphia, Beach House provided a somber soundtrack that pattered upon my brain like the rain against the subway window. As with the songs on this album, the scenery blends, rooftops stretch for miles -- intersected only by burned out buildings and empty lots. But, like the beauty school I saw sitting amid this barren wasteland, Beach House makes the mundane sound sumptuous, dressing up their dark dirges with simple accouterments that accent their bare bones approach to songwriting with lush overtones. There’s a melodic sadness to their songs that accent the scenery. And, like the suspended tracks I rode upon, their music floats -- detached, yet dreamy vocals, wheezing organs, glissading guitar -- anchored only by simple beats and the pitter patter of percussive accents.

Wednesday
Repeated listens have proven that, while Beach House’s second album is not as immediately memorable as their self-titled debut, it is more rewarding. Each time I come back to it, details I missed on first pass suddenly appear; the sublime, yet slight organ tempo change in “You Came to Me,” or the way the lilting lyrical cadence of “Turtle Island” (a song I was nonplussed about on first pass) supersedes the somber funeral march of the music and becomes the focal point. Best of all -- right now, at least -- is the slow, Valium-paced “Pale Blue Eyes” picking that introduces the hymnal-driven dirge that is “Heart of Chambers.” It is more mature than anything found on their first album and shows a growth in their sound that is both rich and dense.

Thursday
Last night I went to watch the Phillies. They lost. I’d like to think that Beach House would understand. They deal in despair and passion in equal measure; two emotions encompassed by any Philadelphia sports fan. On the almost jaunty “Wedding Bell,” which opens the album with a sweep of percussion, Legrand asks, almost optimistically, “Is your heart still mine to save?” On “Gila” she urges us to not waste our time, while on the winter-waltz of “Holy Dances,” she states: “In the night, I call your name.” The song that probably best sums up the emotions of a Philadelphia sports fan, however, is their subtle cover of Daniel Johnston’s “Some Things Last a Long Time.” Really, they do.

Friday
Serendipity provided a welcome surprise the previous night when I realized that Beach House was actually playing a show in Philadelphia. Saying I saw them, however, is a slight overstatement as their sold out show at The Barbary was so packed that only the tallest and closest of people could actually view what was happening on stage. No matter. The sound of their album transferred itself seamlessly to the live environment. Aided by an additional member who added extra percussion atop of their programmed beats, Legrand and Scally brought their haunting tunes to a club environment in impeccable fashion. Best of all were Legrand’s vocals, which ranged from the floating, ethereal emotiveness of Julie Cruise, to the forceful grandeur of Edith Piaf, to the cold detachment of Nico.

Saturday
“Heart of Chambers” made me cry today; in a laundromat no less. I am writing a letter to my parents telling them to stop bickering around my brothers in their post-break-up battles. It’s something a son shouldn’t have to do. While the song itself is sad on a musical level -- Scally’s slow, deliberate picking, backed by Legrand’s funeral infused organ -- it’s the lyrics that got to me, especially the line “I’d like to be someone you could finally love again,” which Legrand draws out for desperate effect. If you are in a fragile frame of mind, Beach House is an emotional battering ram. Their songs haunt the nooks and crannies of your cranium, digging around until they trigger that memory. Some might call it cathartic listening.

Sunday
Sunday mornings were made for Beach House’s hymnal approach to songwriting. While others are in church, I am in my own house of worship; in bed, flat on my back, eyes closed, as their haunting sounds wash over me in a redemptive wave. Sure, in places, the album does meld. And yes, it does sound a lot like their debut, but it’s a sound that should be rejoiced, not written off. Only the plodding, five-minute long “Astronaut” continues to do very little for me. Like any good Sunday, Devotion unravels at a slow pace, revealing its layers at unexpected moments without ever losing its deliberate pacing. As they were earlier in the week, “Gila” and “Heart of Chambers” are the obvious stand out tracks. And I still wish that their Daniel Johnston cover was fleshed out somewhat, but what’s really surprised me are the songs that didn’t register first time around; the subtle “Holy Dances” (especially the slight, hardly noticeable change in tempo half-way through); and my new favorite, “Turtle Island,” which went from not registering at all, to repeated listens. As their album title suggests, Beach House just need a little devotion.

 

 

Writer Kevin Pearson had no idea what it was like to be an American Citizen until he cried in a laundromat.