Like the broad slashes of black in a Franz Kline painting, Calvin Johnson's
sepulchral voice dominates the stark white screen of his second solo album's arrangements. Although he is joined on various tracks by a Who's
Who of Olympian indie artists — Mirah, Phil Elverum, Yume Bitsu's Adam
Forkner, Glass Candy's Johnny Jewel — Johnson's offputting yet curiously
affecting style is the crux of these 10 songs, the vehicle through which
their haiku-like simplicity attains drama and heft. Whether he is intoning
like a deadpan priest, swinging uncomfortably in time to rock-song rhythms,
or howling and hooting like an untamed beast, Johnson's voice is an
arresting instrument, always ready to charge off into challenging
territories.
Like What Was Me, the K Records founder's first solo album,
Before the Dream Faded... has a stripped-down intensity. Tracks
like "Red Wing Black" spike pastoral images with foreboding, funereal
percussion, the slow, downbeat-hammering thuds underlining the barest hint
of Rhodes. The melody, if you can call it that, is simple and repetitive,
three rising notes hedged by silence, then followed with a march down the
same short scale progression. It is more than minimal; it is almost the
pure essence of a song, and its elements — the bare beat, the shimmering
keys, the deep vocals — combine in disturbing ways. A sense of unease
permeates the whole composition, undermining the calm of its nature-loving
lyrics.
Other tracks are more embellished and collaborative, yet retain the
eccentricity of a Johnson's singular vision. "Rabbit Blood," for instance,
is one of the disc's most upbeat and rock-oriented tracks, a swampy bass
line and slashing ad-hoc guitars lending heat to its humorous,
sexually charged vibe. The track is funny, in a creepy way, because it's
so direct and unselfconscious. Not many other singers could make a come-on
like "Stop by my hutch/ We'll conduct experiments designed to prove/ Whether
the carrot or the stick is intrinsically better/ At bringing a dumb bunny
luck" work, but in Johnson's damaged-stalker voice, it's outrageous and
hilarious.
The collaborations are not well documented, so we don't always know whose
fingerprints, besides Johnson's, mark the tracks. It's clearly Mirah's
cotton-candy sweet voice weaving harmonies in opener "When Hearts Turn
Blue," and Glass Candy's Johnny Jewel produces the ominous Johnny-Cash-on-Quaaludes "I Am Without." K Records mainstay Phil Elverum lends a buoyant
jangle to the excellent "Deliverance." Still, many of the most interesting
accents go unattributed. For example, there's an uncredited-but-wonderful
blurting no-wave saxophone on the crazy-quilted "Leaves of Tea," and a
madly off-kilter guitar line in cathartic "Obliteration Overload" — but no
indication of who to thank.
Perfect-pitch purists may object to Johnson's voice — an opera-loving
friend of mine once switched off Beat Happening's "Indian Summer" in horror
because she couldn't stand its flatness — but fans of distinctive,
unmediated personal vision will find that part of the appeal. Calvin
Johnson sounds exactly like himself and no one else. How many artists can
you say that about?
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