Lousy With Sylvianbriar
Of Montreal
Released by Polyvinyl
Of Montreal masks darkness behind a factory of psychedelia on their 12th studio album, Lousy With Sylvianbriar.
The latest incarnation of the band’s ever-shifting style harkens back to their musical origins. Gone are the synthed up glam or prog overtones they toyed with in previous years, replaced with a vintage psychedelia that could have easily been recorded in a basement apartment two blocks off Ashbury Street in 1960s San Francisco, and in fact that’s not too far off the mark.
Frontman Kevin Barnes moved to San Francisco as inspiration for the album before assembling a team of musicians and recording the entire album on a 24-track tape machine in his home studio.
The result is an album that wouldn’t feel out of place next to Jefferson Airplane’s Surrealistic Pillow or Pink Floyd’s Piper at the Gates of Dawn. It’s a vast wall of psychedelic noise, full of jangling guitars and acid-trip solos, yet behind the bright noises sit dark lyrical themes.
“They’re letting children get blown up in their schools today/So they can get them back into their factories” sings Barnes above a doo-wop harmony of background vocals on “Belle Glade Missionaries.” The song continues to criticize the disconnect between reality and entertainment that is growing in our world before concluding “All the evil in the universe/There are no victims, only participants.”
The opening track “Fugitive Air” starts off as a garage-rock sounding tune driven by a twangy guitar, and seamlessly transitions into an airy psychedelic trip. Barnes’ wordplay comes out as he sings “I’m a walking mausoleum/The scent of rotting flesh/Mother always loved you best/Liked your teeth upon her breast” before ending on a series of “Ooh-ah-ahs.”
“Obsidian Currents” is a psychological journey guided by a groovy bassline and moody harmonics. The lyrics sound like something out of Doors of Perception—“Everything is conceptual and/All is rhetorical/You can feel so powerful.”
The album plays between highs and lows throughout, transitioning from loud walls of sound and guitar licks like “Hegira Émigré” to the zen-like relaxation of “Raindrop in My Skull” or “Amphibian Days.” Nowhere is this transitioning more clear than “She Ain’t Speakin’ Now,” which places smooth, calm, lyrical interludes between roaring guitars and shouting vocals.
Barnes’ decision to strip down and go back to his own musical roots as well as those of his musical forefathers has created a warmly nostalgic album in Lousy With Sylvianbriar. For a band whose sound has been constantly evolving over the past 17 years, this return to psychedelic pop is a welcome venture.
