With the group’s original line-up since they
announced the return of Johan Wohlert who left the band back in 2006,
MEW has returned with a new great album since 27th April 2015 via Play It Again Sam.
Jonas Bjerre’s voice has
always been surreal. The frontman and singer for Danish art rock band Mew has a keen ability to sound even more
ethereal than Jónsi himself, the king of European falsettos. He opts
for delicate, airy notes amidst Mew’s harsher rock. Even as the throes of No
More Stories’ “Repeaterbeater” slam with catastrophic force or And
The Glass-Handed Kites’ “Why Are You Looking Grave?” rolls into
shoegaze, Bjerre holds destruction at bay with his frail, thin vocals,
pinching the guitars between his thumb and middle finger, shaking them until
they begin to look like rubber. While the band’s bizarre version of melodic
prog rock has always suited them, Bjerre’s vocals appear misplaced. Don’t
misread this. They make the contrast work in their favor, but Bjerre could
quickly join another band where his sound is more suitable, more emphasized, and
more decorated. When you’re following a six-year silence, there’s pressure
pointed at you from all directions, so Mew rebooted until they found the
equilibrium of the planet, particularly the interconnectivity between water and
air, two forms of life which his voice has continually emulated since the band
formed in 1994.
In the six years separating 2009’s No
More Stories Are Told Today, I’m Sorry They Washed Away // No More Stories, The
World is Grey, I’m Tired, Let’s Wash Away from this year’s + – (an equally enigmatic but less
exhaustive title), Mew has shifted from melodic alt rock into a more
pop-oriented territory. Here, they find a new zone where Bjerre can fly calmly
as stadium-style instrumentals cushion him. Much of it sounds like a long journey
down a river, but with the occasional bumps and bruises of uptempo rock.
Bassist Johan Wohlert rejoined the band halfway through the
album’s writing process. No longer a trio, Mew went out on tour while
writing, too, a decision that led towards calcifying their progress and shaving
off new angles that didn’t work. That break from total immersion keeps Mew from
investing wholeheartedly in another concept album. It’s disassociation done
well. Mew may have a hand on reality in +
–, but the songs float as if they’ve escaped the folds of gravity
altogether.
It all hinges on order, and that order begins with lead single “Satellites”.
Harp-like strumming bubbles up delicately, and joined by Bjerre’s vocals,
swirls into pastel clouds. This is a version of Mew that shies away from
syncopation and dissonance. Instead, they’re straightforward: The lyrics are
direct, the sound is fragile, the drumming is simple. Once the song breaks
post-chorus, Bjerre’s quiet gasps pierce the background like he’s running to
their own rhythm, chugging alongside the guitars. Bjerre is surrounded by the
delicacies of pop songwriting and gentle mixing. His voice, at last, matches
the mood completely.
The rest of the album fully embraces the prog-gone-pop route.
The opening riff of “My Complications” is laced with the sugary coyness of
‘90s-era Mandy Moore. Mew pushes it to the side when the bass comes in, getting
darker and more mysterious thanks to Bloc Party guitarist
Russell Lissack, before Bjerre’s vocals revert the settings to a place where
dream-like keys glitter across it all. The mixture shouldn’t work. “Interview
the Girls” is nothing but cheery lyrics wiping at a dirty windowpane to let the
sunshine in. It’s there in the sedative superbowl jam “Water Slides”,
too, where Kimbra joins
them for vocal harmonies that jump like a mirror image of Taylor
Swift’s “I Knew You Were Trouble”. These conflicting elements in the music
feel scattered, but Mew, as always, make it sound so right.
Call it confidence or call it naivety — Mew still hold the indie stadium genre
to their name, even as their songs smile with downturned edges.
With grander production and spacious echoes, +
– is Mew’s most
calming take on stadium anthems. “Clinging to a Bad Dream”, the album’s
creative peak, begins with street sounds and the occasional chirping bird. Warm
Caribbean rhythms trickle in quietly on guitar, an unassuming intro that merges
Bjerre’s airy vocals with the water-like flow of the record. A flash of heat
cracks and Mew explode, chopping the song up into emotionally-driven notes and
sporadic percussion, growing rowdier before culminating in an outro of
uplifting reverb. It’s a song that uses space to its advantage. Even “Rows”, in
nearly 11 minutes, swells gratuitously, turning anthem rock on its back and
showing it the beauty of a starry night. Sure, they fall into routine on “Witness”, a brawny ripple
of energetic rock that chases an unrelenting beast, nodding to their past
sound. Later, they snap back to their poppier version, treading in the
extremes of crystalline transcendence and celestial flutters.
The lush landscapes come and go smoothly, but a good
number fade quickly from the mind. “The Night Believer” tip toes over the
line into campy territory no matter how sweet Kimbra’s lines are. “Making
Friends” unravels after a mere minute, slopping around with a funk riff that
gets blown out in a chorus of cymbal crashes and bland synths. Regardless, it’s
clear the new album feels comfortable to the Danish quartet. Within its grooves
and rigid time signatures comes a gentle raising of Bjerre’s vocals — the move
Mew have been waiting to take for a while and are finally executing in a way
that makes sense.
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