Review Summary: An album of emotional ups and downs that ultimately leaves the listener drained but satisfied.
I can't help but wonder if Stephen Christian suffered a mild bout of bipolar disorder while he composed
Felt. Generally in Anberlin (the comparison was inevitable, so let's get it out of the way), no matter the subject matter, the songs are injected with infectious, high energy hooks, which creates the obtuse notion of happily singing along to the dissolution of a cherished and still desirable relationship (eg: Stationary Stationery.) During a listen of Anchor and Braille however, it stands out like a candle in the dark that Christian was looking for a different, defining style to his solo project, and in that goal he has succeeded.
Felt opts for a sweet, simple vibe which juxtaposes almost jarringly against the crushing, somber numbers that populate it. One moment the album coos a harmonious blend of violins, piano and minimal guitar involvement that supports rather than overshadows Christian's recognisable and talented voice, the next it uses the same wonderful combination but in an emotionally draining way. The trend is self evident throughout the album; start from Rust (The Short Story of Mary Agnosia), which leads nicely into Like Steps In a Dance. So far we've encountered the light, bouncy side of
Felt, especially the sickly sweet falsetto used in the chorus of Like Steps In A Dance, but then Christian brings us back down with Blur. and Inretrospect. While both captivating numbers (I dare you to get Blur.'s chorus out of your head on your first listen), there is a sharp shift in the positive ambiance that the album was building upon. It continues a further two times before the end of
Felt, forging a rollercoaster journey of ups and downs through emotion.
Some may find this distracting, as if the album is reluctant to decide upon a theme and stick with it, but Christian's experience and innate musical ability brings a settling cohesion to the contrasting moods. Stephen's voice and diverse versatility is showcased extensively on
Felt, displaying the soft, whimsical nature on Calm, Calm, Calm, Calm Yourself in tandem with the jaunty tune of the piano, while exposing the skyrocketing falsetto and deeper tones on arguably the best outing on the album, Summer Tongues. At the height of
Felt's optimism and mirth, we find Sing Out, while the heaviest, heartbreaking laden moments are floating in the despair of Wedding/Funeral.
The biggest problem that
Felt faces is the relentless, syrupy sound that it assaults us with. On first listen, the overall impact of the album can be aurally related to scoffing a bowl of sugar coated sugar, which is only worsened if the listener is expecting a heavily Anberlin influenced record. There are no particular straights where the morose piano and strings are absent long enough to abate it. However, patient listening will eventually remove this initial stumbling block.
Lyrically, Christian has excelled at matching appropriate words to the aura of the songs. Wedding/Funeral is brilliantly executed, especially the first verse, synchronising with the shattered state of the man in the story. In almost all songs they are excellently introspective, ignoring the standard I-love-her-but-she-don't-love-me lyrics by numbers while embracing the wide spectrum of human relationships.
Felt is an engrossing album of emotional ups and downs that ultimately leaves the listener drained but satisfied. If you can forgive the overwhelming sugary tone in the beginning and get over your disappointment that this isn't an Anberlin cut-and-paste, then you'll be in for a treat.
