Year: 2011
Label: Thrill Jockey
Catalog Number: THRILL 257
Format: CD (digipak)
I’m not exactly sure what to make of Arbouretum. Maybe that’s what makes them one of my favorite artists at the moment. Their sound, perhaps best described as psychedelic prog-folk stoner rock, has been likened to Crazy Horse, Bob Mould, and Richard Thompson-era Fairport Convention, though none of those comparisons seems exactly on the mark. To me, singer Dave Heumann’s distinctive voice falls somewhere between that of Eddie Vedder and Gordon Lightfoot, fronting a band that brings to mind Pink Floyd circa Obscured by Clouds.
The Baltimore group’s fourth album The Gathering sees them getting heavier, both by turning up the fuzzbox on their folk, and by tackling the weighty subject matter of psychoanalyst Carl Jung’s Red Book, exploring realms of the psyche such as the collective unconscious, archetypes, and spirit guides. Mythic imagery abounds in the album’s lyrics, notably in excellent opening track “The White Bird,” the title referring to Jung’s “daemon of spirituality [that] decendeth into our soul.” Adding to the heady lyrics, a hypnotic fuzz-guitar riff further propels the song deep into inner space. (And extra points to Heumann for including the words “gloaming,” “tessellating,” and “mycelia” in the same song.)
Sometimes cover versions can break up an album’s continuity, but here the inclusion of Jimmy Webb’s classic ballad “The Highwayman” has the opposite effect: The oft-covered tale of a wandering spirit reincarnated through the ages as frontier outlaw, sailor, dam builder, and starship captain fits perfectly with Arbouretum’s unique brand of cosmic Americana.
The Eastern-tinged heavy groove of “Waxing Crescents” makes that track another highlight of The Gathering, its lyrics continuing the theme of spiritual vision quest (“What lens is offering to give blurred things clarity?”) as Heumann’s wails are made even more otherworldly by processing them through the filter of an ancient VCS3 synthesizer. One can almost picture Arbouretum belting out the apocalyptic hymn “When Delivery Comes” on a towering cliff, the howling wind blowing majestically through their beards. The album closes with the epic jam “Song of the Nile,” a psychedelic beast inspired by Gnostic mythology that chugs along relentlessly for 10-plus minutes before finally spiraling into the cosmos.
Heavy, man.