What sorcery is this? By now, it’s accepted that every musical sub-genre gets excavated and recycled after time has put the original article at an appropriate distance, but a full-on psychedelic folk revival?? Weren’t the punk wars fought to cleanse the Earth of beads, beards, flutes and six-minute one-chord drone jams?
Anyway, whatever conceptual problems you might legitimately have with the notion of said Psychedelic Folk Revival, Philadelphia’s Espers are noteworthy as one of the leading lights of the movement (if such it is) – they’ve toured with Devendra Banhart, are reputed to be an almighty live proposition, and have garnered more than a few ecstatic reviews along the way.
And in truth, my innate misgivings aside, there’s much to admire about Espers’ distinctive, dense web of sound. Despite their medieval predilections, they’re nowhere near as twee as might be inferred from song titles that virtually define the phrase ‘hippy-dippy’ (‘ Moon Occults The Sun’, ‘Meadow’, ‘Flowery Noontide’). The pretty fragility of their gentle folk-song m.o. is offset by Greg Weeks’ harsh, ominous, vaguely threatening guitar work, which at its (loud, ferocious, screeching) best almost emulates the free-form majesty and cacophonous beauty of Dirty Three or early Tindersticks.
It’s garnished with quaint but enticing additions such as cello and swirling organ: as with the Three, they also incline towards extended directionless drifting workouts which some may find a tad dull. More problematically, the vocals are deeply unfortunate: off-putting high-pitched medieval folk witterings which call to mind the worst excesses of the Incredible String Band. They’ve every right to use vocals, of course, but Espers’ music is structured and powerful enough to exist happily without need for vocal accompaniment. It’s all in the ear of the beholder, but Meg Baird’s sub-Kate Bush ramblings do little or nothing to enhance the songs, and on occasion come perilously close to ruining them (as on the epic ‘Children Of Stone’).
Intriguing if frustrating, Espers II is a strange beast: an Olde-Worlde creation which conjures up visions of summer-solstice celebrations at Stonehenge darkened by the suspicion that there’s an axe murderer on the loose. Still, you suspect dear old Syd would have approved.