The Finch at the Feeder

I used to think that The Decemberists were screamo. I’m really not sure why, except for the name, which reminded me of Underoath or The Used, for whatever reason. The first song of theirs I heard was “The Mariner’s Revenge Song,” which I really liked, but made me think they were like a better version of Flogging Molly. It wasn’t until some months later that I got the chance to give Picaresque a good listen.

Let’s start with the obvious: “The Infanta” is one of the greatest opening tacks on a record there is. It does everything an opening track should—it surprises, it builds, and it paves the way for the seriously great ten tracks that follow. I’ve never become a fan of a band faster than the first time I listened to this track. If it was offered, I would’ve bought a Decemberists t-shirt before the final operatic note was sung.

Then, amazingly, the rest of the album delivered. Colin Meloy writes and sings like no one in the business, and the whole “baroque rock” deal is so…cool. Someone once told me that they felt like The Decemberists sang with the voice that I write with. I took that as a mega-compliment, and I sort of agree. I feel like The Decemberists write the songs that I would, if I had any real musical ability.

I don’t want to undermine tracks 2-5, but I think that “For My Own True Love (Lost at Sea)” is where I really started to feel this album. The longing in that song gets me every time; it really seems almost new to me every time I hear it. Then it transitions to “16 Military Wives,” which is almost odd for a Decemberists song, especially on this CD, but it works sandwiched between “True Love” and “The Engine Driver,” which is the real standout track here. It’s a song full of narratives, which I usually really, really hate, but I can never get over the line “there are powerlines / in our bloodlines,” or the way the song really kicks when Meloy starts in with the whole “writer of fictions” business, which I almost always belt out, for obvious reasons. I don’t even like “The Bus Mall” that much, but it follows “Engine Driver” perfectly, and it has a personal nostalgia that is a little contagious. Suddenly, I’m identifying with these pool hall punks and I don’t even know why.

I’ve already mentioned “The Mariner’s Revenge Song,” and if you haven’t heard it, you really should. It’s a completely original experience, unless you hang out a lot of people that sing sea shanties. My first copy of Picaresque didn’t include the final track, “Of Angels and Angles,” but I’m glad about this fact. It made the first time I heard the song a minor miracle, because I had a record that I thought couldn’t get any better, and then I hear this lullaby and become a true believer. The first time I heard it, I honestly thought “I would like to sing this to my kids someday.”

Anyway. Picaresque is in the list because it moved me and continues to move me. I think The Decemberists are one of the few bands that don’t seem to be changing too much, despite the fact that they’ve been picked up by a major label and are supported by everyone from Zach Braff to Howard Schultz. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed every album they put out—including The Tain, the one-track experiment no one ever really talks about—but none of them have been so precisely spot-on, crisp, or touching as this one. I think I’ll put it in now.