Eternals throw everything into ‘Isn’t That Anyone’
Over a nearly eightminute drone, through a fragile, thin vocal line, Eternals’ frontman Stephen Konrads unwinds the story of his grandfather fleeing Stalin’s murderous regime in “Affirmation II.” Normally, I’d call this a surprising end to an album. But everything on Eternals’ second album, “Isn’t That Anyone,” is unexpected.
Konrads and his Boston band begin straightforwardly with “Raised By Wolves,” a funky little nugget with a fuzzed-out, freaky guitar solo and a bridge perfect for a ’70s fern bar. When I think Eternals has established a groove, Konrads grabs the wheel and disappears up into Laurel Canyon for the drowsy, downtempo California singer-songwriter sound of “Out of Context.”
Collections as diverse as “Isn’t That Anyone,” which will be celebrated with a release party tomorrow at Great Scott, rarely work. But Konrads’ smart compositional skills — he has Donald Fagen/Elvis Costello/ Elliott Smith level chops — kept pulling me through the songs.
He also has a crack backing band willing and capable of adapting its attack to each bright melody or dreamy chord change. Secret weapon alert: Eric Bolton’s guitar — he takes up half of “See You” with an almost atonal solo, and it’s still not enough.
I can’t wait for “Isn’t That Anyone” to get national press. Partly because the excellent LP deserves fivestar reviews from coast to coast, but also because I want see how other writers attempt to describe a sound this expansive and intimate, frivolous and dark.
When Rhino Records gets around to making its comprehensive 2010s box set, it better have a lot of the Avett Brothers.
Like a Joe Perry riff defined ’70s rock and a Human League synthesizer captured ’80s new wave, Avett Brothers’ hootenannies and plaintive ballads will represent a slice of today. The Brothers don’t have Mumford & Sons sales or a hit as ubiquitous as the Lumineers’ “Ho Hey,” but their adventurous, elastic approach embodies the modern folk movement. Oh, Seth and Scott Avett also write better songs than their peers.
“True Sadness,” the band’s ninth album, opens with indie gospel in “Ain’t No Man.” It dips into hip country rock with “Mama, I Don’t Believe.” It blends banjo and drum machines for “You Are Mine” and old-timey harmonies and pulsing electronic bass for “Satan Pulls the Strings” (what could be more now than that?).
Like most of their recent work, “True Sadness” has roots that creep down into the Appalachian earth but the sound nips grooves from Brooklyn, Los Angeles and Seattle. And because of the band’s honest, earnest sonic curiosity, nothing feels forced.