By: Chris Ball
Dan Mangan + Blacksmith | website | facebook | twitter |
Released on January 12, 2015 via City Slang
Canadian singer songwriter Dan Mangan, here for the first time with his full time regular collaborators, now christened Blacksmith, has followed a familiar route to his current oeuvre on Club Meds. Originally releasing solo acoustic material and then bringing in other musicians for his later releases which has expanded and altered his sound. His early EPs and debut album Postcards and Daydreaming saw him compared to Bon Iver, something which is set to continue I’d imagine as Club Meds finds Mangan and band dealing in a woozy mix of rock, electronica, folk and world music.
The album is titled for what Mangan sees as society’s reliance on sedatives; be it prescription medication for wellbeing or the glossy, meaningless culture that surrounds us. Indeed several of these tracks are akin to the experience of coming round from general anaesthetic. A feeling of torpor and powerlessness pervades. Strip lights blur, sounds are fragmented and muffled as your gurney slowly rolls down the hospital corridor into an uncertain future. Opener ‘Offred’ includes the line “I will sleep through the bastards…”
Club Meds is not an entirely ambient experience as several tracks are enlivened by what sounds like African high life-style guitar runs, which dance and pirouette through these mainly downbeat ruminations. The guitar playing is often the saviour of these tunes which otherwise seem so glum (‘War Spoils’ especially) as to leave nothing but a dirty smudge on your subconscious.
Early doors Mangan has one stab at Elbow-style stadium friendly prog rock on the single ‘Vessel’ – all hopeful chords, Gabriel-esque huge backing vocals and powerhouse drumming. By the time that fabulous guitar work enters the fray you are totally sold. Then brass kicks in! The full kitchen sink is utilised, and call me a sucker but it works brilliantly. It’s a song I always think ends too soon.
It is followed by the agitated ‘Mouthpiece’, Mangan’s polite baritone suddenly gets an edge and as the acoustic guitars thrash and ghostly backing vocals elevate the melody you begin to get excited about this album.
The title track manages to display the best and worst aspects of this album; a lovely, glitchy waltz is struck up, again recalling Elbow and Radiohead, but the song is quickly lost in too much swampy electronica and just sinks under its own weight. Of course, that may be the point.
A lot of this album is underwhelming if pretty; Mangan does sad very well, although he’s not in the same league as The National (another touchstone). Several of these tunes have a sort of quiet majesty, not dissimilar to Jeff Buckley. However, that air of fuzzy-headedness seems to prevent any of it truly tugging at your heart. That guitar playing is an absolute delight throughout, though.
