Overhead, The Albatross - Learning to Growl / I Leave You This

A Closer Listen

Post-rock fans, if you’re not already familiar with Ireland’s Overhead, The Albatross, this is a great time to play catch-up, as both of the band’s LPs are being repressed this fall.  Learning to Growl is already out on die-cut CD and turquoise vinyl, and I Leave You This is out in two weeks with multiple vinyl options. Both are released on A Cheery Wave Records, with U.S. orders from A Thousand Arms.

The band’s story begins in January, 2011, with the release of the EP Lads with Sticks.  At their inception, the band leaned more toward math rock than post-rock, but their punchy melodies and changing time signatures were already in place, accompanied by a welcome penchant for strings.  The piano breakdown of “Liam Neeson” seemed to come out of nowhere, but demonstrated that the band had an ability to surprise.  Fast forward to August and the Mr. Dog EP, only two tracks long but yielding a stage-ready sound.  Fun fact: this is one of the first releases we ever reviewed, back in the first week of our public existence!

From here the band would establish a template of sorts: releasing a few singles in preparation for an album, then releasing the album, which would contain most, but not all of the prior singles in addition to new tracks.  The nine-minute “Think, Thank, Thunk,” which begins with handpan (a relatively new instrument at the time), progresses to an all-out jam and ends with a voiceover, is the only original piece not to appear on the band’s debut album, while “Our Youth Our Younger” is the only original piece not to appear on I Leave You This.  We say “original” to differentiate these tracks from “Time,” a Hans Zimmer cover released in instrumental and spoken word versions, one that would influence the decision to add spoken word and sparse vocals to the latter release.

“Telekinetic Forest Guard” (2014) and “Big River Man” (2015) did make it onto Learning to Growl, and sound just as good now as they did then.  In fact, the entire album sounds as if it could have been recorded today.  Six of the nine tracks clock in at seven to nine minutes, a sure sign that the band has made the transition from math rock to post-rock.  The opening track rises from near-silence to a gorgeous segment of piano and strings, the percussion absent until the third minute.  Overhead, The Albatross is in no hurry; the band’s biggest moments, as well as its most intimate, will arrive later.  The snares and closing crashes of “Telekinetic Forest Guard” are early highlights, this track segueing smoothly into the next, paving the way for “Daeku,” which makes a surprising shift after its chime-filled breakdown, highlighting the violin and snare.  From this point forward, the album begins to experiment with subtle electronics, never overwhelming the guitars.  This all leads to “Big River Man,” which charges out of the gate, a restless, untamed mare.  The percussion is highlighted early, the strings late, leading to a wordless, choral finale, a sign of things to come.

And now the process repeats.  Two singles are released in 2016, followed by a six year break.  The band reemerges in 2022 as a quartet, releasing three more singles over the next two years, all of which will make it onto I Leave You This.  But the band isn’t just a quartet, as the album also includes over a dozen guest performers, not counting the choir and vocal samples.  I Leave You This unfolds as a loose concept record, bookended by “A Letter” (beginning with the tender words, “You took your first steps today, and it was beautiful.”), which seems like a graduation speech composed for one not yet able to understand it, and ending with “A Letter 2,” a sobering parable about a caribou and a shell.  The fall may be slow, but innocence, by the end, has been lost.

In the center, the album cycles through a bevy of emotions, while pushing the length of the tracks to the ten-minute mark.  The piano and strings are back, even more dramatic than before.  “Your Last Breath” contains an exuberant monologue that folds into a brief chorus.  Single “L’Appel du Vide” begins with lovely interplay between the strings and drums, then sneaks in the electronic elements, breaking down before returning to the rhythm and ending in a guitar-soaked flourish. The finale of “At Sea” is downright euphoric.  Overhead, The Albatross has found its stride.

We did say that the album would take a downward turn.  As the album reaches its halfway point, the timbre turns ever more sombre, with the exception of the clubworthy “This Is Like Love.”  One can see “Paul Lynch” waiting at the conclusion, the Irish, Booker Prize-winning author known for his themes of emigration, alienation, and finally fascism (Prophet Song).  The upbeat singing of the Straffan Lads Choir battles against the starkness of the lyrics. “The Letter 2” arrives as a warning, perhaps too late.  Which way will society turn?  Which way will the listener turn?

If the band remains true to form, we can expect their next album to arrive in 2032, prefaced by a number of singles.  But with these reissues on the market now, there’s no better time to discover the ever-evolvng sonic world of Overhead, The Albatross, whose moniker now seems ever more prescient.  (Richard Allen)