Chattanooga Pulse

Umbrella Tree
The Letter C
(Cephalopod)

The Nashville trio Umbrella Tree might appear to be a band for children—its live performances have included puppet shows and onstage tea parties, its cover art looks like a page from a children’s storybook, and I have a hunch that its name might be taken from the kids’ TV show Under the Umbrella Tree.  However, its latest album, The Letter C, casts a hazy, complicated mood within, with a theme of nautical uneasiness, words of wistful longing, songs in minor keys, and a few moments of R-rated anger.

The amount of attention the band has put into this package is impressive; accompanying the 16-track CD is a DVD that contains videos (of the modestly homemade, no-budget, yet well-edited kind) for all songs, along with live footage and extra videos.

On an album with pop instrumentation, including prominent keyboard lines and tasteful cello flourishes, unexpectedly, the most distinctive element of the band’s sound is the drumming; Derek Pearson avoids common beat patterns, and the album is mixed to allow his cymbal crashes to very slowly dissolve, leaving a mist of mystery.  Singers Zachary Gresham and Jillian Leigh alternate duties or blend together, and the softie in me is drawn to the more straightforward ballad-type numbers, like the hard-to-resist “Starfish,” tenderly carried by Leigh, over the album’s mildly off-kilter numbers.

The group’s approach is somewhere between rock and pop, and on The Letter C, it seems like the band doesn’t feel the need to take sides, which can be a little frustrating at times.  To clarify, there are times when the ebb and flow of the album seem to need a liberating rock release, and at other times, one might want a pure, hook-laden pop song to carry the momentum.  Overall with Umbrella Tree, there seems to also be a “cute” vs. “dark” battle, but on this effort, darkness definitely wins out.

Killick’s Exsanguinette
…And the Creek Don’t Rise
(Solponticello)

The inimitable Athens, GA musician Killick plays what he calls “Appalachian Trance Metal,” frequently on his one-of-a-kind acoustic stringed instruments.  Even though this is a fellow who has covered the entirety of Slayer’s album Reign in Blood, under his former name Erik Hinds, the “metal” aspect isn’t really apparent in his recordings.  In his case, “metal” is often shorthand for “intense,” although his latest album, …And the Creek Don’t Rise, is perhaps the closest he’s come to living up to his self-imposed genre’s name.  Killick has assembled a fearsome quartet, called Exsanguinette, and has outdone himself, with some of the most dizzyingly powerful music of his career.

Right from its opening track, the album unloads its sonic ninja sumo wrestlers, combining dexterity and quickness with a commanding heaviness.  Most prominent is the drumming, which is supplied by Brann Dailor of the prog-metal Atlanta band Mastodon; his playing is monstrous yet precise, and he doesn’t hold back, unleashing a storm of softball-sized hail, in the form of quick bass drum beats.  Saxophonist Larry Ochs, a member of the acclaimed Rova Saxophone Quartet, provides furiously unhinged outbursts, and kindred spirit and nonconformist Liz Allbee delivers charged trumpet bleats and disquieting high-frequency electronic sounds.  On the most chaotic numbers, Killick plays the cat-herder by letting fly whip cracks on his electric guitar or skronks along with the improv maelstrom.

The whole album is full of gloriously difficult listening, and the most challenging moments aren’t necessarily the ones that pummel.  The relatively quiet “Hosannas” is a puzzling track, with gurgles, both real and synthetic, and smoldering animalistic snarls from Allbee, playing a conch shell.  The twelve-minute “Grasshopper Escapement” approaches slowly like a steamroller on the horizon, building volume and finally razing the area, with Killick bringing up the end with his distinctive, percussive fret board pitter-patters.