Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros
(Community Records/Fairfax Recordings)
A Southern California collective dubbed a "family" by its bearded, charismatic and somewhat messianic leader... Hmm, wait, haven't we had one of those before and didn't it all end in tears? Unlike frustrated songwriter Charles Manson, however, Edward Sharpe (aka Alex Ebert, also of Ima Robot) has unambiguous musical talent and the only tears his family, the maniacally happy Magnetic Zeros, are likely to induce are tears of joy from their uplifting, celebratory tunes.
The band's communal image (its dozen-or-so members even ride, like the Merry
Pranksters, in a converted bus) translates to this debut album: everybody
cheerfully mucks in, seemingly playing anything they can get their hands on,
from ukulele, marimba and viola to trumpet, accordion and good old-fashioned
electric guitar. In the process, Ebert and his cohorts mine a rich, predominantly
late-'60s/early-'70s vein, picking and mixing various flavors of sunny
west-coast psychedelia, folk rock and country rock, the arrangements often
swelling with Spector-sized grandeur. While it's hardly newsworthy for a band
to draw on such influences, there's something refreshingly distinctive about
the infectious, eclectic sound that Ebert's troupe crafts from them.
Up from Below's appeal resides largely in its wealth of summery instant anthems such as the driving, Waterboys-style title track and the exuberant sing-along, "Janglin' " (think: "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head" meets "Instant Karma"). Most memorable, though, is "Carries On," an epic in the mold of the Brothers Walker and Righteous -- and Ebert's voice justifies that comparison -- which insinuates itself gradually and then erupts with blissed-out abandon into the choruses.
There's a gloriously boisterous looseness to some of these tracks. Take "Home," for example, on which Jade Castrinos' and Ebert's euphoric refrains alternate with the song's Morricone-esque elements. Although you can't fault this duet for its unbridled, joyous energy, it's unfortunately interrupted by a cringe-inducing, lovey-dovey spoken section that may have cynical listeners reaching for their sick bags. The Morricone motif is reprised elsewhere: with its spaghetti-western atmospherics and Ebert's rather camp Spanish-language performance, "Kisses over Babylon" could be the theme from an imaginary Sergio Leone movie. And the Italian director even gets a namecheck on the haunting "Desert Song," one of the album's more straightforward, wide-screen rock numbers. Less straightforward is the heady video for "Desert Song," a trippy, oedipal hybrid of Lucifer Rising and Zabriskie Point -- but while the dissolute, whacked-out end of the '60s provides much of the inspiration here, Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros also channel an earlier, more innocent pop sensibility. That comes across in the '50s doo-wop/r&b vibe on the lilting sea shanty, "40 Day Dream," and the moodier "Black Water."
Obviously, a band's novelty image can distract and detract from the appreciation of its music -- and that's a risk run by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, who have a lot of fun flirting with the cosmic family persona, even closing out the record with a track incorporating a (possibly faux) Buddhist chant ("Om Nashi Me"). Be that as it may, the strength of their songs is undeniable and irresistible and, appropriately enough, transcends everything else.
Standout Tracks: "40 Day Dream," "Janglin',"
"Carries On," "Desert Song" WILSON NEATE
