Efterklang’s Magic Chairs tells me a couple of things by the end of its first track: one, it’s a record of divine and immaculate beauty, and two, it wants to elevate my soul. The pianos of “Modern Drift” twinkle like sunlight reflecting off a frozen waterfall. The trombones and violins glide like satisfied eagles. Bass drums punctuate phrases like ellipses in God’s thought bubbles. The voices shimmer in harmony, possibly while the singers close their eyes, drape their arms around each other’s shoulders and sway. This should be at the end of a trailer for some Best Picture nominee about the triumph of the human spirit.
It’s all so lovely that I wanted Magic Chairs to elevate my soul as much as Efterklang did. But after 10 spins, we still haven’t made that transcendent connection we were both hoping for. Is it because my soul is too stony and stubborn? Or is it because Efterklang’s music and sentiments are about as dynamic as a June zephyr? Maybe if my soul were more like a kite, Magic Chairs and I really would’ve taken off.
I don’t mean to belittle kite-souls. Some of my dearest friends have kite-souls. I’d probably be a much happier guy if my soul were more kite-like. Then I could totally lose myself in the wispy cloud of melancholy, hope and humility that surrounds not just the opening track, but tracks 2, 3, 7, 9 and 10 as well. The melodies, rhythms and arrangements may vary, but the lukewarm religious-experience vibe remains, and its impact becomes diluted after 40-plus minutes. On top of that, the lyrics are usually too vague to add much flavor (”over the top and it all comes down”; “I can go without a weapon or a dream.”). I’d probably be more enamored with Magic Chairs if Efterklang eschewed lyrics altogether and sang in mysterious Sigur Ros-style gibberish.
A few tracks in the album’s midsection try to broaden and deepen the emotional palette. “Harmonics” and “Scandinavian Love” approach fanciful joy, albeit the kind of fanciful joy that might soundtrack the main menu of a Wii game. “Full Moon” feels somewhat haunted, but the song’s ghosts appear distant and harmless, trapped inside faded black and white photographs. Similarly, the jittery guitars and entrancing, erratic rhythms of “Raincoats” resemble a benign anxiety attack. It’s as if Efterklang’s uncomfortable confronting their darker places, preferring instead to peek at them from behind a crack in the bedroom door. For instance, whenever the guitar plays a few dissonant notes after each chorus, the moment lasts barely more than a second, almost as if the band’s afraid that the slightest bit of excess disharmony will utterly destroy the pristine fabric of everything else.
Not that there’s necessarily anything wrong with weaving a pristine fabric with your music. Efterklang does that quite well on Magic Chairs, and I admire that. But if their aim is also to uplift their audience, they shouldn’t be so hesitant to plunge a little further into the darkness first.