It’s not difficult to see how The Fiery Furnaces could be considered the pretentious apex of stateside art-rock. This, their third full length offering in the last couple of years, is testimony to that suspicion. And by the time its 11 often uncomfortably-extended tracks have jerked by pulling pompous shapes, confirmation. They are an adventurous band to the core, of that there has been little doubt. It’s what made them so magnetic in the first place, their sense of adventure, their pretty, naïve fearlessness, their infectious childlike qualities. Only much of that has subsided by now. We mistake it for a sense of adventure, but it’s become far too knowing for that, really. The innocence lies smashed, framed on a distant wall as some part of ironic post-emotional instillation. This isn’t adventure. This is art. And that can’t seduce you nearly as easily.
That it follows on from their focused ‘EP’ round-up earlier this year only underlines its forced nature more. But then their last album proper, 2004’s ‘Blueberry Boat’, was also vexing and mixed. Actually, it probably was more so, which should make this easier to accept. There are moments, of course there are moments, this is recognizably the Fiery Furnaces, on paper still a good thing. The album opens with ‘The Garfield El’, a bar-room piano near-interpretation of ‘Turning Japanese’, with half sung storytelling-by-the-fire monologues to-ing and fro-ing over the top. And it’s engaging, spellbinding even. Not least with the hunger that pervades Eleanor’s voice. But such successful simplicity is treated as a warm up rather than a standard.
It’s not so much the songs in isolation that are the problem, though even when confined there’s a scatty malfunctioning work ethic evident. It’s that nothing seems particularly linear. This whole record is apparently based on the life story of the grandmother, but even that doesn’t provide a constant, as they jump backwards and forwards chronologically. Most songs, and let’s take the 9 minute ‘Seven Silver Curses’ as an example, veer between snappy Spanish guitar, scuzzy guitar, warm piano, sinister piano, organ, woozy electronics, loud vocals, chatty vocals, folk to barroom to prog. They’re acting out a story here, arguably summoning flavours for the emotions and acts – it’s a brave undertaking in that respect. But their lack of focus remains incredibly frustrating.