Review Summary: Balancing old-school sensibility with nu-folk ingenuity, Rain On The Humming Wire is as pleasant as it is diverse, with only a couple of duds.
Full disclosure: this album was a freebie. Back when I was attending university, I used to write music reviews for the campus' magazine, and this was the second hand-out I got after, of all things, Rise Against's Endgame. None of the content of that review will find its way here, however, and this is based much more on hindsight some six years after hearing it. But honestly, then as now, Rain On The Humming Wire is an enchanting trip as its inexplicably sublime cover art would suggest. Placing their overall sound is difficult, though they are hardly a Captain Beefheart. In fact, it's the marriage between classical songwriting, pure variety and the sleek sense of homeland style the Panics have that gives this album its rich flavour.
The opener, Majesty, is a decent window into the vibe of the album, with varied instruments filling the sound but with downplayed volume giving the song a chilled vibe even when it picks up in the chorus, letting vocalist and lyricist Jae Leffer confer his feelings on the cultural ties Australia has to Britain. There's actually a somewhat ghastly mood to much of the album, but not in a way that provokes a haunting atmosphere. Rather, it's closer to making the album feel like a silent walk through a rain-slick town at night, just like the cover art. It promotes this sense of deliberate isolation and introspection, which is backed up by harmonies that are present but either octaves or very simple additions. There's just enough distance and just enough homeliness.
Though these affectations are also proof that the Panics definitely have their roots in an Australian sound. Both the balance between folk, goth, jazz/soul and straight rock, and the circumstances regarding the album's production, being recorded in New York and portraying feelings like homesickness and cultural alienation, directly mirror that of Eskimo Joe's 2005 effort Black Fingernails, Red Wine, probably Western Australia's biggest musical export if you don't count INXS (which you should not). Particularly songs like Low On Your Supply or Not Quite A Home, songs built on very stabbing, literate piano riffs that punctuate light instrumentation everywhere else, are almost certainly trying to tap into that same sweeping mood.
But Eskimo Joe, even at their best, don't have either the sense of grit or class that the Panics do, both borne from their folksier sound; while EJ were mostly straight AOR, the Panics tackle songs that echo affectations of classical tango (How Long), subdued bar band (Move On) or the pretty clear Fleetwood Mac send-up in Creatures, built on hellishly good guitar and vocal hooks. But virtually all of it is connected through a low-key understanding of both depth and variety, and the simple appeal of good songwriting. For as broad as the sonic palette gets, pretty much all of these songs stick to striking verse-chorus structures. But the dichotomy is what drives the songwriting and grounds the tone of the album, which is what gives it a sort of punctuating brilliance.
But tone is also an important card in the Panics' deck, with a generally coasty pace but never being lethargic. The instrumentation favours a basic rock set-up alongside classical piano, but is never afraid to add other instruments or effects to add to the song. The accordion on How Long just adds to the class, and the wispy keyboards on One Way Street and Majesty give them some long-standing charm. The whole album is just kinda bubbling with this poetic edge, with this focus on instrumentation somewhat distanced from their folk roots but very much steeped in old-school attention to tone filling out the sound wonderfully. This is backed by lyrics that tend towards either specific cultural outlooks or more generalised, human, even mundane, subjects, but it all feels like it comes from the mind of an artist and no lyrical concept ever feels counter-intuitive to what is trying to be accomplished through the music.
Only three problems immediately stand out, with two sweeping and one song-specific. The band is generally competent and all members have moments of domineering the song, not through showmanship but simply through driving the intended atmosphere best. But the weakest link is easily the vocalist. Jae Leffer sounds like Michael Stipe with even more nasal problems, which works fine for the sweeping songs about some musing on cultural standing or the human condition, but less so on songs like Low On Your Supply, about simple love and the permutations thereof. Furthermore, he doesn't have the biting cadence that made Stipe compelling despite some moments of woeful tone, so the two songs that sound closest to R.E.M. (Walk That Mile Alone, Shot Down) don't have the drive they could because Leffer simply can't fill the air as well.
The final big flaw, and this feels so weird to say even now, is that so many songs feel like they lack a proper ending. With how classically constructed the songwriting comes off, about half the cuts feel like they needed an extra chorus or half-chorus, or something bigger to close the song instead of it simply stopping. Endless Road and Walk That Mile Alone probably cop it the worst.
Humming Wire is also steeped in gloss, not to the level of pop music or anything, but enough that more traditionally-minded listeners, or people just looking for more exciting and instantly gratifying music, may want to look elsewhere. But the gloss has a point, and the album still has that human edge that gives whatever distance it has a real sense of purpose. I used to listen to this album on lonely commutes, or while simply relaxing, and even with a couple of the louder songs, I feel like that's the way you want to listen to it. Inviting, sweeping, gratifying, it's a very satisfying project with enough simplicity to be engaging from the word go but enough variety, density and intelligence to reward repeat listens. That said, I do certainly hope their next project, Hole In Your Bucket, can be even deeper.
