Breathe Owl Breathe seem transfixed on an ideal of folk music that they can't really control. Cold, dark, hostile—folk music can get pretty tumultuous. But while Breathe Owl Breathe try to master this learned approximation of folk tradition on Magic Central, they gloss over the very warm, bright and friendly melodies that make them so worthwhile.
As much pain and sorrow as they try to get across, most of it comes up empty. ""Own Stunts"" is a reflective confessional in which a ruthless stoic complains for some four minutes. Yet, when the song breaks into the chorus of ""ooh-aah's,"" it doesn't feel the least bit cathartic. So it goes throughout much of Magic Central.
Breathe Owl Breathe are intent on telling us biting, grave profundities, but rarely do they muster more than banal observations. ""Dragon"" is a less-than-subtle attempt to turn ""Beauty and the Beast"" on its head, and all of it focused around a punch line that comes in the first monologue. The ""How do you stop loving someone"" refrain doesn't sound nearly as lonely as ""How do you start,"" and lead singer Micah Middaugh's anti-Disney sentiments sound like little more than whining.
They try to be an incisive, irreverent folk troupe, but in reality their lyrics and instrumentation are never sharper than when they abandon their constructs of folk conventions. I can't open my e-mail inbox without coming across a new folk singer whose life is worse than my own, and it takes a lot for anyone's sagas of hopelessness to stand up to the scrutiny of oversaturation.
Breathe Owl Breathe don't have the depth of tribulations to be a truly heart-rending folk act, but there's nothing wrong with that. In fact, it's to their benefit. They sound more comfortable traversing flowery fields than icy tundras, and Middaugh's voice resonates better when he's enjoying nature than when he's berating himself. They take a page from Andrew Bird's book on ""Parrots in the Tropical Trees,"" and wind up with one of the album's few bright spots.
Middaugh's singing partner, Andrea Moreno-Beals, adds levity to Middaugh's stone-sober delivery, pumping life into the most desolate corners of Middaugh's songwriting. But the fact that Moreno-Beals has to do so much work is very telling of Magic Central's primary issues. It's trying to be a fun, mystical record, but Middaugh rarely lets it breathe long enough. He makes the band's own name sound more like a forceful act of desperation than the soothing respite of life it should be.
But for what it's worth, Middaugh has a big mustache. It's so big, in fact, that on ""Own Stunts,"" he explains that it stretches far enough to conceal his lower lip so that nobody can see him trembling. He's weak and buckling, but on the surface he looks calm and ready. His group's songwriting is hinged on this same dichotomy, and when he stays the ruthless stoic he writes distinctive melodies that escape the bounds of contemporary folk music. But on Magic Central, Middaugh lets his metaphorical mustache slip a little too often for his own good, and he ends up losing his own irreverence in the process.
