Album Review: Our Brother The Native - Sacred Psalms

Materialism? Secularism? Western consumerist culture? So overrated.

In recent years acts like Gang Gang Dance, Animal Collective and Liars have displayed a growing creative assimilation of elements of mysticism, tribalism or indeed animism, reflecting a back-to-nature aesthetic and a healthy interest in unfamiliar cultural practices. Disconcerting voodoo chanting, ritualistic textures, use of gamelan/steel pan instrumentation: this is the new sound of the indie underground, epitomised by albums like Here Comes the Indian or They Were Wrong, So We Drowned. As the title of their third album indicates, Our Brother The Native cover much of the same territory: their dark, sinister, often compelling music is a mixture of Javanese Gamelan influences, tribalistic chanting, unsettling found sounds, atmospheric drone and disconsolate lyrical mantras.

‘Well Bred’ makes for a gripping opening track, as an ethereal, hymn-like vocal gives way to an ominous rhythm while the almost incomprehensible vocals grow in intensity, a whole host of instruments and sounds submerged in the mix: tribal percussion, eerie glockenspiel, discordant sax á la Foals or TV On The Radio – it’s a heady brew, and one that evokes images of disquieting hoodoo rituals even as its lyrics make references to PHDs, BAs and doctors. The dark vibes continue into the succeeding tracks: ‘Manes’ combines scattered, pattering percussion with Animal Collective-like freak-folk vocals, while ‘Someday’ is better yet: at first a ghostly soundscape that would be almost ambient if it wasn’t for the mysterious sampled incantations that drift in and out of it, it slowly develops into a tune as a banjo picks out an insistent melody which culminates in a yearning, homesick refrain.

Although it’s no less odd – with its tropical vibe and out-of-focus production – ‘All Grown’ provides something of a change in tone, and not quite for the better: stripped of the forbidding instrumentation that until now cloaked them, the vocals seem overwrought and cloying, while the melody is banal. Thus, it comes as a relief when ‘Dusk’ follows it with a passage of disorientating, strangely beautiful ambience, interrupted sporadically by found sound, submersed melodies and dislocated drums. Elsewhere, the frantic ‘Child Banter’ recalls Liars’ more unhinged moments with its violent outbursts of guitar abuse.

However, towards the end of this album the less appealing aspects of Our Brother the Native’s aesthetic become more and more evident: their tendency to resort to sixth-form emo platitudes in their lyrics (e.g. “Cleanse these sores from my skin/Cleanse these sores/I just want to feel one last time” from ‘Sores’) can be ignored to a certain extent, but when the hypnotic density of their music falters somewhat, it becomes painfully evident. Combined with their relative lack of melodic nous and the aforementioned overemoting, it’s no surprise that the more conventional attempts at songcraft here, such as ‘Sores’ or ‘Behold’ are the tracks that impress least. Still, there’s plenty to love here: if Our Brother the Native focus on playing more to their strengths, there’s every chance they may yet be held in the same regard as their more lauded contemporaries.