Pale Young Gentlemen's eponymous debut aroused a level of excitement rarely achieved by local bands. For most, though, Pale Young Gentlemen was enticing for its promise of what the band still had yet to unearth. Pale Young Gentlemen embodied the scene of a bar filled to capacity, bubbling with carefree, youthful enthusiasm. Black Forest (tra la la), the anticipated follow-up, occurs in a bar now vacant, aside from one man looming in the corner nursing a pint, glumly recounting his nebulous state of being.
The opening track, Coal/Ivory,"" details the smooth transition from the old-time whimsy of the Decemberists to the darker stylings of Arcade Fire. Michael Reisenauer's vocals are more rushed, more desperate; the guitar plucks and snare snaps sound more deliberate, more calculated.
They've always sounded more like Beirut than anything else, and it's most obvious on the second track, ""I Wasn't Worried."" Reisenauer is babying his relationship, but in the process he has no choice but to ""rob the pockets of our good old days."" Everything comes tumbling down around him, though, on ""Goldenface, Morninglight."" ""Everything is changing, and I am just alive,"" he whimpers over sparse cello and violin bows.
Robbed of any hope, Reisenauer turns to ""The Crook of My Good Arm."" The apex of his depression is, incidentally, the most obvious regression to the energetic, string-led arrangements so prominent on their debut. It's the one track with the most apparent directionality and purpose, in both a literal and sonic sense. Yelling ""Run, run through the thicket and the barley / Run, run for the sake of your good name,"" Reisenauer abandons his problems and leans on an alternative method of coping while the guitar frantically details his anguish.
""There is a Place?"" is like a well-placed rug, tying the whole album together. It is the point at which Pale Young Gentlemen finally stand up from their barstools and wander back out into the night, providing the crucial plot twist that gives the entire album of conscience meddling, constant insecurity and indecision a solid purpose. ""In a sort of way, I am walking home,"" Reisenauer reasons amidst a stirring melody of strings and bells before admitting, ""Maybe I'm a fool, alright / But ask me how I slept last night.""
The unsung hero in all of this is the music itself. Throughout Reisenauer's self-deprecating narrative, the common denominator is the consistently impressive musical backing. Through all the highs and lows of this epic, the strings and piano provide a sturdy backbone, accenting every heartbreak and improvement and providing noticeable depth to his emotions. Ultimately, it's these arrangements that make Reisenauer's tale so engrossing and what make this album worth repeated listens.
