The Illusion Of Grandeur

Dermot Barrett, formerly of the excellent but defunct Dublin indie rock band Ten Speed Racer, now lives in Norway – where he clearly has been mastering an epic sound. Or at least it’s “epic” in that it’s filled with stately pounding pianos, undulating organs, expansive acoustics, optimistic xylophones and vibraphones, earnest guitar-picking and mournful tromboniums (I could tell the brass arrangements were trombonium by ear, of course, not by looking at the sleeve notes). And it’s “effortless” in that all of this seems to slot easily and naturally together according to natural laws. In other words, it doesn’t end up being the horrendous mutated Dr. Moreau-style combination of rock and strings that emerges when lesser indie acts attempt to go all ‘epic’ on us.
The end result is that Barrett’s smooth and emotional voice curves and twists around minor chord melodies as orchestral musical melodrama swells up and down in the background. It’s an effect that veers more towards the under-emulated Echo And The Bunnymen than the decidedly over-emulated Arcade Fire, which is a good thing. On the downside, there’s some over-earnest lyricism on a couple of tracks (like the heavy-handed take on politics on a song called ‘Revolve’), but the downbeat pop joy of Daybreak and Stupid Earth Boy more than make up for that. Furthermore, he’s bringing the lovely mellow trombonium back to recorded music, which can’t be a bad thing.