Seclusion produces beautiful album for the Antlers
Although isolation is overdone, The Antlers' seclusion isn't trite.
Published Sept. 4, 2009
Everyone has heard the stories about musicians secluding themselves in the wilderness to write an album, much like Henry David Thoreau did when he wrote "Walden."
One of the more popular instances of this was Justin Vernon's seclusion last year to write the critically acclaimed album, For Emma, Forever Ago, under the moniker Bon Iver. Pitchfork raved, and almost every story began with some variation about how his isolation led directly to the stripped-down beauty and simplicity of this album.
Back in 2006, Peter Silberman, much like Vernon, decided to move to Brooklyn and socially isolate himself from friends and family for a few years. After he recorded a solo collection of songs, Silberman enlisted the help of two fellow musicians and three years later, the trio formed The Antlers, and recorded their first album, Hospice, in Silberman's apartment.
Hospice tells the story of a man whose loved one is in the hospital fighting bone cancer. Bone imagery is prevalent throughout, and even the band name Antlers lends a certain delicate feeling to the whole situation. Each song develops these ideas a bit more than the last one. Weaving between dreams and reality, track by track, Silberman takes listeners on a truly heartbreaking ride, lyrically and sonically.
Hospice was originally self-released back in March 2009, but due to the overwhelming response and sales the band received, they quickly ran out of stock of the record and had to re-think things. They finally signed with Frenchkiss Records who then mastered and re-released the album last month. Some lo-fi efforts would probably be tainted by a mastering job, but the dynamic soundscapes and vocals seem to sound even better post-mastering.
"Prologue" starts the album with a dense, ambient instrumental track and the linear notes provide the back-story for the album on this track. The somber mood begins. The very next song, "Kettering," starts off in the hospital room and references the bone cancer and morphine the patient is undoubtedly addicted to at this stage.
"Sylvia" is the first hint at a reference to Sylvia Plath, something we see later on in the album as well. Silberman stops with the hushed vocals on this track and really belts it out. His vocal range is similar to Vernon's, but it also brings to mind Judah Nagler of The Velvet Teen. Loud climaxes and horns both work together to create my favorite track on the album.
Between all the intense sounds of the previous songs and straightforward lyrics comes "Bear," a keyboard driven tune that starts off quiet but slowly transforms into an acoustic tune about a "bear" inside the patient's stomach — but obviously this "bear" stands for so much more.
Lyrically, "Wake," is the best song on the album. Silberman brings his isolation experiences and his hospital observations together to finish out the album strong with an 8-minute ballad. "It was easier to lock the door and kill the phone, than to show my skin/The hardest thing is never to repent for someone else,/it's letting people in," he sings, while a faint drumbeat begins.
Although the isolation concept is overused, Silberman did it in such a way that feels anything but trite. This album succeeds on so many levels it's almost impossible to include them all in a review.