Deerhunter Albums (3)
What The Critics Say
The narcotic drones and fragmented art-punk Deerhunter explored on Cryptograms made the album a love-it-or-hate-it proposition for many indie rock fans; where some heard eclectic expansiveness, others heard incohesive experiments. Microcastle, the band's first album with guitarist Whitney Petty, brings together the disparate elements that made Cryptograms fascinating and frustrating, adding a little more pop and quite a bit more studio polish (this album was recorded in a week, as opposed to the two days it took to lay down Cryptograms). Deerhunter still changes from gentle to storming at a moment's notice, as on "Microcastle" itself, which drifts along like a slow motion surf-rock ballad, then catches fire about two-thirds of the way through, and the album's middle stretch of songs is just as lulling as Cryptograms' opening suite, but a lot more melodic. These fever-dream moments are punctuated by pop songs that are as crystal clear as they are warped. The trippy innocence of '60s psych pop is a major influence on Microcastle, especially "Little Kids"' jangly guitars and sparkling strangeness, and the acid-pop flashback "Saved by Old Times," which is slinky and mischievous enough to be a spiritual cousin of Donovan's "Season of the Witch." Bradford Cox and company get even more accessible on the bittersweet "Never Stops" and the excellent "Nothing Ever Happened," which lets zigzagging guitars and keyboards tussle over one of Microcastle's most memorable melodies. Guitarist Lockett Pundt's songs balance Cox's extremes, with "Neither of Us, Uncertainly" nodding to the album's hazier moments and "Agoraphobia" blending in with its crisper songs. When "Twilight at Carbon Lake" swells from a hallucinatory '50s slow dance ballad into a triumphant storm of guitars, Microcastle proves that Deerhunter can make music that sounds very different from what they'd done before, yet still feels of a piece with their body of work. ~ Heather Phares, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
Deerhunter's first album, the self-titled release from Atlanta-based Stickfigure, was a cacophonous, messy, punk-driven record that banged and pulsated along in the shock and anger after bass player Justin Bosworth's sudden death in 2004. By the time the band set about recording their second album, however, they had added another guitarist, one who focused more on twisting and mechanizing sound, and had calmed down considerably. Because of this, much of Cryptograms meanders about in the experimental realm, where swells and layers matter more than melody or structure. It does make for contrast, this ebb-and-flow against the greater discord of the sung pieces, but these instrumentals don't do enough to actually mean anything. From the "Intro" to "Red Ink" to "Providence" there's a kind of tired consistency played out in the delayed guitar that works to make the record almost commonplace, despite its avant-garde leanings. The more "conventional" tracks, those with words, decipherable or not (generally not), work a little better. More interesting and complex musically, they weave guitar and basslines with driving chords and heavy drums, the same energy before spent on reverb now given to rhythm and composition. Lyrics, courtesy of frontman Bradford Cox, are sparse but intentional, like the repeated muffled yell of "there was no sound" in the title cut, or the echoed call of "I was the corpse that spiraled out" in the nearly eight-minute long "Octet." Cryptograms is pained, sometimes angry, sometimes reflective (and once, in the out-of-place indie pop "Strange Lights," oddly content) music that aims for the provocative and the esoteric. Occasionally, like in the wonderfully spastic "Lake Somerset," Deerhunter successfully accomplish that, but more often than that they overreach and end up hitting something much more ordinary, predictably "experimental" choices in a genre that's supposed to be anything but. Yes, there's a greater recognition of the importance of maturity and structure and intellectualism here, but it's overshadowed by a heightened sense of gravitas and a concern for the unconventional that ends up dulling whatever it is they may have created. ~ Marisa Brown, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
The debut album by Atlanta new wave revivalists Deerhunter (officially untitled, but listed in the Stickfigure Records catalog under the name "Turn It Up Faggot," a taunt the band claims was often directed at them during their early gigs) is a pleasant change from all the B-52's and Joy Division worship that goes on under that banner. In its place comes an aggressive blend of guitar skronk and rhythmic pummeling that's a direct descendent of fellow Georgians like the Method Actors and the early, aggressive side of Pylon. The five-piece band favors a squalling, echo-heavy sound that makes individual instruments and vocals nearly impossible to make out: the loudest sound to pierce through the murk is as likely to be a simple one-note piano part or thwacking hi-hat cymbal as anything else. The resulting mess of a sound is a take-it-or-leave-it affair that some listeners will find an impenetrable wash of noise. The intrepid listener who sticks with it will find a compelling mix of dance-rock throb and noisy drones that sound like a happy-feet cross between early Sonic Youth feedback squalls and the most Krautrock-influenced and dance-oriented aspects of the Fall. ~ Stewart Mason, All Music Guide
