“Every time a bell rings,” goes one famous quotation about bells, “an angel gets his wings.” Another one says, “Never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” So then what happens if those bells are broken? Do new angels just hang around Earth, flummoxed and wingless? Will mere mortals no longer know when it’s our time to die?
Chances are, James Mercer of The Shins and Brian (Danger Mouse) Burton of Gnarls Barkley didn’t have these exact questions in mind when they named their collaboration “Broken Bells.” But their self-titled debut most definitely exists within a bemused realm between life and afterlife. Mercer sings about ghosts, specters, vaporized beings, messages from the dead, phantoms of lost time, and that ever-elusive highway to heaven. Burton’s production is haunted by supernatural voices, dusty pianos, and shadowy synths. The atmosphere, while frequently frisky and elegant, is persistently unsettling, as if it’s always on the verge of revealing some bubbly, non-threatening mindfuck.
Perhaps the most shocking revelation of Broken Bells is simply how well it works, considering the widely disparate styles of its members. Burton built his career on making the past reach out to the future- think The Beatles adapting to fit Jay-Z’s rhymes on The Grey Album, or the spirit of the ’60s hauling ass to catch up with Cee-Lo Green’s 21st Century sizzle in Gnarls Barkley. Mercer, on the other hand, has typically retreated from the ultramodern world through his old-fashioned folk-rock. The collision of these two opposing forces could have easily resulted in a disastrous clash. Instead, Broken Bells creates a bold and timeless sound straight out of the 3rd-and-a-half dimension, at an intersection of hip hop, folk, and experimental pop.
The album starts with two of the strongest tracks of either artist’s career. Both “The High Road” and “Vaporize” overflow with superb melodies, seductive beats, and a Tears For Fears-ish vibe where the songs sound like polite but passionate protests into the cold, indifferent void. “The longer we wait around, the faster the years go by,” the chorus of multi-tracked Mercers reminds us in “Vaporize.” During the bridge, the voices practically cry, “Make our escape, before we start to vaporize,” and they sound like they just might. On paper, such things may not seem like the freshest insights, but on record, the resonance of these passages tingles my hide.
The third track, “Your Head Is On Fire,” glides into mellow, trippy territory that’s most effective when you’re buzzed in a steamy late-night bath. The offbeat disco of “The Ghost Inside” follows, providing one of the album’s most charming moments as the traditionally non-funky Mercer suddenly gets his Prince on. And with the sinuous and spellbinding “Sailing To Nowhere,” Broken Bells‘ fantastic first half draws to a close.
Unfortunately, the second half gradually reveals that Burton and Mercer front-loaded the album with most of their A-material. ”Trap Doors” and “October” are the two least adventurous tracks here, and they’re anchored by some of the record’s most lethargic hooks. At least these tunes are broken up by the super-villainous grime of “Citizen,” even if it’s the one spot where Mercer seems out of his element. “Mongrel Heart” initially sounds like a pretty cool Morrissey tribute, until a Morricone interlude lifts the whole thing to the level of sublime; it’s the clear standout of side 2. “The Mall And Misery” is catchy and groovy with a sharp, rusty guitar hook, and it’s a satisfying way for the album to zoom off into the cosmos.
Despite Broken Bells‘ top-heaviness, the record as a whole wields an eerie power over me every time I listen. Not just because it’s one of those records where you’re still discovering its bells and whistles even after a dozen spins. It’s all about the alchemy, the aura, and the sense that some strange intelligence is at play here…some alien presence, disturbing but friendly, peering at us from behind an intergalactic veil…something trying to tell us the end is always near, but now is never the time to panic…we are alive, and we are dead.
, but I think I can safely assume that Hippies sounds a lot like it.
