Discussing music on a historical basis is pedantic, but necessary. There quite obviously can’t be a direct comparison between two bands that are removed by decades of artistic development and societal change – the bands of today simply don’t exist within the framework of the human rights activism of the 60s, the British class struggles of the 70s or the anti-institutional Gen X nihilism that defined their respective eras. But it’s interesting to observe similar rhetorics and cultural moments within these highly differentiated stories. Most bands will have their early divergence from the “pop musical norms” of their times, followed by an experimental masterpiece. Then there’s the era defining structuralist exploration of genre and format, followed by the double album, the return to the roots and/or an autumnal work that dives into electronic aesthetics. You can look at many different groups that worked over the decades – The Beatles, Radiohead, U2, The Smashing Pumpkins – and find these movements. Often, they will mirror a rising popularity and/or the desire to be one step ahead of the cultural curve, defining shifts within the political discourse of generations. The double album is often the moment where politics collide, where a band can barely hold itself together, where the sales explode and tapestries of genre are disassembled: the magnum opus that is referred to from there on out as the moment.
So let’s talk about politics and tectonic shifts. Big Thief‘s Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe in You was a generational moment – millennial Mellon Collie & the Infinite Sadness. Widely considered as the best album of a year rich in masterpieces, it allowed the New York four piece to indulge in every facet of their rich, and somehow still young, career: fragile folk, post-grunge, dream pop were all intertwined, often met experimental recording techniques and enriched by sensual arrangements. The record sold impressively and made the group a household name.
But then the inevitable happened: shortly after the band chose to cancel a planned Israel performance in light of the widening political discourse surrounding the ongoing genocide, their founding bassist Max Oleartchik left the band (given that he is Israeli, the implications are clearly political).
While the group has enlisted solo-artist Joshua Crumbly for bass on their new album, they officially exist as a three piece as of now, demanding a change of the tightly knit dynamics the group relied on. Reportedly, two projects were scrapped: first, an intended ‘heavy rock’ album, then a reworking of those songs recorded as three-piece in the woods. While as many as 60 songs were written, nothing seemed to click, until the band finally settled on opening to a collaborative work that brought outsiders in. Quite evidently this resulted in Double Infinity becoming the band’s most experimental work to date.
This can immediately be felt in the seven minutes of “No Fear”, possibly the closest the band has come to a track in the vein of “Souvlaki Space Station”. Weaving together a large number of instruments and tonalities, “No Fear” is held by a slow groove, over which multiple drums, tracked guitars, echoing effects, subtle electronics and Adrianne Lenker’s lullaby-like vocals flow outwardly – pure atmospherics, the sort of thing you’d see referred to as “dub” in the 80s and early 90s. Not quite The Bowery Electric, but definitely connecting with the philosophies of American shoegaze, the song is pure ambience.
Oddly, the opener “Incomprehensible” seems to start where “No Fear” ends – were the two tracks once siamese and divided surgically to change the flow of the album? Here, Lenker returns to her biographical storytelling technique, while Buck Meek adds sonic flourishes that remind of Nels Cline’s work with Wilco, while drummer James Krivchenia speeds the composition up, oddly giving it a cosmic touch – the image that Lenker’s echoing voice comes from an astronaut that propels through space seems inevitable as she comments on the passing of time and intersection of objects within a lifetime.
“All Night and All Day” is equally fast-paced, thanks to a warm percussive backdrop, which feels like an attempt at fashioning acoustic drum ‘n’ bass – think the Pumpkins’ “Perfect”. Often, there’s two layers of drumming: a traditional kit and what sounds like a variety of improvised or handheld drums – bongos, cardboards, maybe plastic buckets? “Happy With You” is another good example of this approach, with the speed of drumming almost reaching the tonalities familiar from the jungle genre, but all analogue, while Lenker repeats the title as mantra. When the drums fade into the background, such as in “Words”, guitars dominate the structures, bursting into similar expressionistic psychedelics as The Beatles used them, for example on the prominent solo of “Taxman”.
And then there’s the dynamics of a newly present background choir (consisting of Alena Spanger, Hannah Cohen and June McDoom), often pushing the usually so eloquent and central Lenker to the background. Still, the iconic frontwoman has her moments. On the album’s most traditional songs, “Los Angeles”, “How Could I Have Known” and “Double Infinity”, the band settle for the sparse studio dynamics of Dylan or Joni Mitchell, giving off the impression of an intimate live session, pruning the experimentation for Lenker’s clear voice and emotional delivery to take centre stage.
Invoking the Smashing Pumpkins earlier on won’t make it surprising that, in a way, Double Infinity can be read as Big Thief’s ADore: a lush experimental work that finds a gothic marriage between folk and sensitive electronic urges. Krivchenia, whose highly experimental collage solo work seemingly inspired some of the more textural qualities on the album, is choosing a much faster, complex drumming style on most songs, while guitarists Meek and Lenker experiment with hints of feedback and painterly tapestries – not unlike Corgan’s shoegaze inspired ballads on his autumnal ADore.
There’s little intimacy on Double Infinity, instead the experimental moments from Dragon… are expanded into full-bodied songs, aesthetically not all too dissimilar from Bob Dylan’s 70s Rock of Planet Waves (in contrast to Lenker’s intimate and emotionally devastating Bright Future, this especially makes sense, rendering her solo work as an equal to Blood on the Tracks, minus the surgical breakup poetics).
But this leads to more questions. In a discography that is defined by elemental powers and a borderline hippie relationship between the musicians and the spaces they settle their sessions in, where stands a project that is so reliant on collaboration and guest appearances, on diffusion and painterly expressionism? A song like “Grandmother”, whose vocal line could as well be from Michael Gira (there are paralells to his “God Damn the Sun”), becomes a wholly different beast through the addition of Laraaji, whose zither and sample work (and voice) are alien to Big Thief’s familiar sound.
Mentioning all these parallels allows for the obvious observation: ADore and Planet Waves – and all the other works I alluded to – are not particularly critical darlings, and have had to suffer a lot under fan ignorance upon release. They are complicated albums precisely because they’re not as much defiant left turns (such as Kid A or Sgt. Peppers) as they are elaborate emancipations, a little awkward and a bit lost, rough around the edges. Yet you will find quite a few odd ones who name them as their favourite albums, precisely because they channel a phase we all endure in life, where nothing seems to work properly and we observe ourselves change irrevocably, a spiritual autumn of sorts.
Possibly, other songs and a different order might have made Double Infinity more cohesive, or logical. But then this would have removed its strange, slightly alien aura of zero gravity geometry. To be honest, this is not even the most experimental Big Thief have within them – a more electronic or abstract record seems absolutely in the realm of possibility. But as of now, Double Infinity is another defiance of expectation from a group who stubbornly follow their own sense of identity. So yes, it’s quite possible this album will be trashed by critics as the least of their oeuvre, but then every person who proudly proclaims this to be their favourite of Big Thief’s discography will have some very interesting stories to tell.
