Xenophobia has arrested the ears of pop music. Today, most bands would rather manufacture albums for pre-sold audiences of bumping grinders, emo-whiners or vacuous bubblegum brains than recreate their music. Why change their tune when a parrot in an echo-chamber still goes platinum? Upon hearing The Shepherd's Dog, the new album from Sam Beam (alias: Iron & Wine), soft and sensual folk lullabies have transformed into dabblings of psychedelics, jazz and even reggae.
Fortunately, the more you listen, the more you begin to feel like a kid at the auditory marketplace, sampling tasty morsels of virgin harmonies seasoned with sides of ethnic beats and rich poetry, each touching the ear palates for the very first time.
The first track, Pagan Angel and a Borrowed Car,"" sets the album's tone, introducing a bare and distant melody, typical of Beam's first two albums, before shattering with a single clap and bursting into a flourish of rhythmic drumming, psychedelic guitars and tinkling piano. The opening lyrics, ""Love is a promise made of smoke in a frozen copse of trees,"" set up a stark contrast with his former lighthearted songs. But don't worry, it still flows as effortlessly as a ""beautiful feather"" mentioned later ""floating down to where the birds had shit on empty chapel pews.""
This stunning, if grim, religious imagery is not isolated here. Christian references are sprinkled throughout the album like boils on Job's behind and, with the album's vast array of styles, provide consistency to the 12 tracks.
""Christianity is the culture I know,"" Beam said in an interview this month with Independent Extra, adding that growing up in the Bible Belt meant religion became a huge part of his consciousness and Christianity was his region's ""mythology.""
The album also trips into a psychedelic drift with songs like ""Peace Beneath the City"" and ""White Tooth Man,"" which venture into the surreal while singing about ""getting trampled at the Christmas parade"" and ""postmen crying while reading the mail.""
Other songs, like ""House by the Sea,"" invoke an African feel fused with folk harmonicas, while ""Innocent Bones"" and the title track use reggae to create more religious visuals: ""There ain't a penthouse Christian wants the pain of the scab, but they all want the scar,"" and ""Devil Never Sleeps"" does the same with a snappy jazz piano.
The album's first single, ""Boy With a Coin,"" features tribal clapping and a distorted voice track like words lobbed down a hallway of endless mirrors. ""Lovesong of the Buzzard"" and ""Resurrection Fern"" douse the listener in more familiar Iron & Wine staples: Beam's gossamer croons and melodies suggesting sun-drenched days spent snoozing on warm grass.
The Shepherd's Dog ends with ""Flightless Bird, American Mouth,"" a wistful waltz of lost love that nearly tempts listeners to ask their grandmothers about dancing.
With its succulent lyrics and zestful smorgasbord of sounds, The Shepherd's Dog has created a new adage: If it ain't broke, revolutionize it.
