The Lovely Feathers – Fantasy of the Lot – Album Review

You know how The Rolling Stones and The Beatles traded identities?  The Stones acted like they were working-class hooligans, when in fact they were middle-class private school kids, while The Beatles were legitimately low-rent but played (at least at the front end) into white-collar expectations about youth, class and language.  In a vacuum, John would be bloodying Mick’s nose in response to a snobby insult as he (Mick) tried to crawl back to his dad’s Volvo.  In 1964, you’d not have sold a lot of people on that argument.  To a degree, this myth-making on the part of both bands informs their legacy and the attitude of modern audiences; compare the public personae of McCartney and Richards and consider which one is more likely to call the other a wanker.  (Ignore for a minute that this whole discussion makes a ton of assumptions about class.  The striving of The Beatles and the slumming of The Stones are fairly stereotypical things to rap about, right?  And, certainly, my own hyperbolic treatment of the English working class is a bit broad brushed.  Apologies, but it’s all in the service of meandering to a point.)  All this to say that image matters in music.  The Lovely Feathers clearly understand that and, on their debut sophomore full length, The Fantasy of the Lot, do a good bit of posturing and cultural polishing with, perhaps, an eye towards honing the type of image that might be appealing to a certain stripe of music listener.

The whole thing can kind of be summed up in one single word on one single song.  The way that frontman Mark Kupfert sings the word “competence” on “Fad” reeks of a college education.  Time was when singers with degrees from art schools would muddy their inflection to sound more rough and tumble.  Kupfert sings “competence” (and much of the album’s lyrical content) like an elocution teacher.  As an experiment, say the word “competence” right now, naturally.  Then say it like you’re Henry Higgins.  See the difference?  Kupfert is on the Higgins tip.  Add in the fact the the band’s bio references their coming together at McGill University and alludes to Vonnegut (kind of ham-handedly, but whatever) and you’ve got an act that either wants to sound like (or actually does sound like) a bunch of dudes with fancy sweaters draped over their shoulders and letters after their names.  You might think that my own rather harsh DIY leanings would force me to frown on this sort of thing, remembering that I want bands with dirt under their fingernails and home-recordings in their trunk, but this approach works for The Lovely Feathers.  It’s all a lie, right?  Dude from Wavves?  Just an asshole trying to make a name for himself by doing things that align with what he wants the public to perceive him as.  (By the way, there is one “v” in that word, dick.)  At least The Lovely Feathers are pushing a slightly more refined image on us.

The record itself is composed of pretty straightforward indie pop with a slight inclination towards stylistic diversity.  The songs all have a distinct lilt, but something like “Finder’s Fee” verges on arena rock (in a good way), while a song like “Ossified Homes” leans heavily on snaky guitar lines and multiple part harmonies.  Within these confines the Lovely Feathers do a lot of interesting things.  The two songs referenced above are both stand-outs, with the kind of catchy hooks that stick in your brain for an afternoon.  One constant thread throughout the record is a good bit of keyboard.  Dudes are not afraid to 80s things up a bit with some synthesizer riffs that recall Aquanet and teal.  Given that this bit of nostalgia is filtered through a fairly rigorous net of irony and distance, that move completely works.  The Lovely Feathers also step away from predictability occasionally, notably with the vaguely latin-tinged “Agrotaker.”

Taken as a whole, Fantasy of the Lot is as interesting for its musical content as it is for what it may or may not say about how image and culture influence music and art.  I want to spend a night on the town with these fellows.  If we’re talking about Sartre while sipping on a really fancy craft beer for six hours, I’m going to be happy as a clam.  If we’re at an illegal cock fight or something I might be even happier.  If you’re intrigued by the top-drawer single “Lowiza” below, the rest of the album will be worth pursuing when it’s released on August 18.  (Also, if you’re Canadian, you already bought this record, as it came out sometime in June up north.  Our bad.)

The Lovely Feathers – Lowiza

Score The Lovely Feathers at insound

(Editor’s note:  As an added bonus today, you get to read the insane scribblings of a scorned baseball fan.  We won’t blame you if you check out early on this one.)  In other news, I need to bitch about the Cleveland Indians for a minute.  The Tribe traded Cliff Lee yesterday.  This is two summers in a row where I get to wave goodbye to the reigning Cy Young award winner while introducing myself to a bunch of prospects who will never be anything special.  (No offense, Matt LaPorta.)  Cliff Lee might sting more than C.C Sabathia did though.  Mark Shapiro got exactly zero (0) of the prospects the Blue Jays wanted for Roy Halladay, which means that either the Blue Jays scouts are idiots or the Tribe got fleeced.  I’m leaning towards the latter.  And.  CLIFF LEE HAD A WHOLE YEAR LEFT ON HIS CONTRACT.  The Indians couldn’t have gotten this sack of shitty AA never-will-bes from a contender next July and given me and other diehard fans another 3/4 of a season of a good pitcher every five days?  I’m so pissed I don’t get to see this guy pitch anymore.  Even though they’ve been out of the race since May, he’s actually fun to watch.  Here’s the opening day rotation for 2010:  Fausto Carmona (assuming he’s not in rehab or some shit), Jake Westbrook (Tommy John surgery), Anthony Reyes (shoulder surgery), Hector Rondon (never pitched in the bigs) and Aaron Laffey (AAA ace).  Great.  That staff could win 65 games easily.  Do you actively want to see any of those guys pitch ever?  So trading Cliff Lee means we’re waving the flag on 2010 as well.  Awesome.  Thanks for that.  I’m never going the see my Cleveland Indians win the World Series.