Review Summary: A modern psych-pop marvel
Once upon a time, you could have accused Whyte Horses of being wilfully obscure. Bandleader and chief songwriter Dom Thomas co-founded the "independent archival collective" Finders Keepers Records, which has stamped vinyl reissues of everything from '70s Welsh folk rock to Polish horror movie OSTs to pioneering experiments in computer-generated music. It seems both the musical and economic sensibilities of this outfit rubbed off on Thomas: Whyte Horses' 2015 debut
Pop or Not was initially released off-label in a private pressing of just 200 copies and that might've been it had CRC Records not signed them and blessedly put the album out to a general audience on CD, LP and digitally.
It was a very strong first effort, an eclectic psych-pop gem with some truly miraculous cuts. Admittedly, it stalled a bit in its second half—you can only line up so many guitar instrumentals—and the album overall had a slightly frosty vibe, as if the musicians had somehow literally been drenched in reverb while being recorded on a chilly winter night. But even if it was hard to weather an entire play through, the best songs still exemplified the album as a whole, which seemed to me to be the record of a journey to sate some strange, distant longing. French indie stalwart Lispector's unpretentious vocals showed the way and clattering percussion drove me forward as electric guitars sounded like distant bells tolling how far I still had to go.
Just keep on running... for the morning...
If
Pop or Not had been a one and done, Whyte Horses might have ironically faded into the annals of music history as the kind of act its own leader made a career out of rediscovering. Were there any justice in the world,
Empty Words would put paid to any chance of that happening. At 16 tracks, it's only one song less generous than its predecessor. But instead of 7 instrumentals, there are two. Instead of 4 or 5 irresistible pop songs, perhaps half the album could have been released as singles. It's cohesive, warm, yet still retains the same transfixing sense of mystery; rather than an icy expedition, it's like wandering through an old bazaar in some sunny country.
In fact, the album has a pleasantly baroque feel. Guitars and drums frequently take a back seat to the newly-installed string section, one or the other sometimes dropping out entirely. The catchy melodies are frequently backed by swooning organs and ornamented by the distinctively effervescent sound of plucked strings. The vocal lines are a degree or two more complex than previously—Lispector is gone, replaced by a trio of understated female singers who on most songs share vocal duties in pairs, sometimes harmonising, sometimes duetting. But the album is not twee or samey in the least. A drum machine pops up on one or two songs, giving them an interestingly dancey vibe; there's also more traditional psychedelic fare like drone and sitar; a children's choir even makes appearances here and there. And of course, there's the familiar, uncomplicated pleasure of jangly guitar, working to blend all these sounds together into a rich, coherent whole.
It would be quicker to list the songs on
Empty Words that didn't grab me, so I'll have to settle for talking about the ones I liked very much indeed. "Never Took the Time" features an arrangement of just guitar, drums and violin so immaculate it sounds seminal, like the proof of some heretofore undiscovered law dictating how to combine those instruments. Add Nouvelle Vague's Mélanie Pain lending breathy, longing vocals about mysterious regrets, Leonore Wheatley doubling her with added "oohs" and "ahhs", and a sprinkle of woodblock right when the chorus kicks in and you have a classic pop song so perfect it threatens to make the reviewer reach for words like "transcendent" and "sublime". "Fear is Such a..." treats us to a masterful slice of spacey yet urgent electropop, augmented with pizzicato strings and the occasional stanza of French and featuring an addictive call and response intro between guest star La Roux (who also features on "The Best of It") and Audrey Pic. Pic performs the bulk of the album's vocals, beautifully executing the twisty, riddle-esque and oh-so-hooky lyrics of opener "Counting Down the Years" and the emotional climax of drumless, swooning "Nightmares Aren't Real". Also: The Go! Team's Ian Parton reaches into his bag of tricks for "Empty Words", the band pulls off a crazy tripartite string-fuelled freakout on "Watching TV", "Ride Easy" is a warm, shimmering closer… and I haven't even mentioned "Any Day Now" or "Fake Protest Song".
All of which is to say that on
Empty Words, Whyte Horses presents us with a world of riches. Thomas and his collaborators have turned in a hugely ambitious and all-encompassing album which reveals a ravenous sonic appetite. They're headed straight for you on their snowy steeds, and with a second record of such quality under their belts, it seems to me that it's going to be much more your loss than theirs if you let them pass you by.
