Review Summary: The breeze debris.
I always admire an artist who find their footing in an instantly recognisable sound. Woods certainly have found theirs. The ethereally springtime ease on a mildly hazy acoustic backdrop was all the rage come late 2000s, but Woods’ particular knack at the style was an inch away from psychedelica, a drip above indie folk, a swoosh further than pop. Wishing and washing, tipsying and turvying their way through interstylistic liminal softness, the band never strayed too far from their genteel surface. See, the way they pushed their song-writing is in a more cerebral fashion, rather than cosmetic or outwardly obvious. They stay zealously true to their base and established sound, but the background of conception varies ever so slightly.
It is always a disconcerting circumstance, when a band releases half their album as singles. In the age of albums being released seasonally in EPs, might this be another ill-conceived form of promotion? Traditionally speaking, this was mostly a hail Mary attempt at striking a hit, getting up the charts. But Woods have never been a chart band, nor had they ever the ambition to be. So why, pray tell, release six different songs in bulk? But their release was even more awkward than that. The band kept releasing songs in twos once a month in June. This might seem a beginning of a rant about the band’s grappling at straws of popularity, but this peculiar tactic actually somewhat mimics the album’s creation process in general.
You see, the band kept composing the songs almost on the fly. A chunk was started by one, then passed along to the other for expansion, rinse and repeat with each song until you get the end result. Each song received a revision from a different studio, apparently under the leadership of a different member each time. In that regard, its release cycle makes vague amount of sense. You finish a batch, you release it. There is little information on the actual process of creation and the thinking behind such promotional anomaly, so this entire theory is strung together from pieces of liner notes, articles, reviews, announcements, and social media snippets. In this fashion came about Woods’ newest,
Perennial, an album almost indistinguishable from their whole discography apart from this gimmick of creation. Very, very little is different about it, apart from a few aspects. However, you still will eat it up, won’t you, you filthy hungry piglet?
Straight off the bat, the most notable novelty of the album for a Woods work is its abundance of instrumental tracks. Not that Woods have never had a proclivity to instrumental passages or non-vocal, non-linear cuts, but it is the first time in a while that entire sections of the album are dedicated to vibrant meditations without melodic vocals. “The Seed” opens the album on quite the mood-setter, flowing freely in liquid form, decorated with cutesy guitar loops in the background. The track lacks clear melody but is so breezy it practically lifts you up and puts you in a bed of clouds. The stage is set for “Between the Past”, the first of the plethora of singles. The vibraphone-laced gentle caress becomes from here on a recurring trait of the album, together with the mellotron, which would take central position come “Another Side”. At six minutes the longest of album’s excursion sadly slogs on with just occasional new instrumental addition, not presenting much beyond a generic atmosphere. Its hazy guitar licks and screeches do, however, reflect a mild return to the band’s earlier sound that was more grounded in old-school psychedelica, almost borrowing from stoner rock. In this sense, the album does not follow the direction established on at least three of their previous records.
Then again, plenty of other songs do follow those trends set on albums like
City Sun Eater or especially
Strange to Explain. “White Winter Melody”, the tedious “The Wind Again”, or “Double Dream” sound like
Strange to Explain b-sides, what with their warm, occasionally progressive instrumental frames, relaxing atmosphere, simplistic core tunes, while “Sip of Happiness” or “Little Black Flowers” come this close
[visualising a small distance] to being anthemic, quite in line with
City Sun’s fantasy aesthetic. The latter of these songs, “Little Black Flowers” comes close to being the album’s crown jewel, smoothly blossoming on a cute, quirky progression, while supported by mild darkness underneath all the glitz and summery delicacy. It softly wails on, strengthening its moderate temperament, for when the chorus strikes it feels like a great explosive reward. But this song too is not without its downside, as it ends rather abruptly, practically undoing all the build-up until now, leaving the tune nowhere to satisfyingly erupt like it so obviously wants to.
Beginning to end, Woods mainly reaffirm their strengths here. If a fault is to be pointed out, it is that their ability to take risks seems to always be relegated to where and how to record the same kind of music they always have, instead of what new direction or musical idea they can employ. Credit where it is due, it is not like the sound they have found for themselves is in any way an atrocity. Woods constantly re-recording the same album is only as exhausting as we allow it to be, seeing as the band are perfectly content with remaining the champions of pleasant acoustic background music. As such,
Perennial mainly serves as an exercise for the band itself, less so as an outward statement of anything. They want to play around and play safe, maybe help fund their festival with these endeavours. Who am I to deny them that?
