Skallander - "Skallander"

Skallander - Dismemberment (Type 2007)

Skallander – Skallander / Type

There is absolutely a reason Type Records mastermind John Twells trusts Chicago-based artist Matthew Woodson to handle the artwork for nearly every one of his releases. Though the Type imprint on a disc doesn’t necessarily correspond to a particular genre, you can expect a few shared characteristics: somber toned, immaculate musicianship, idiosyncratic approach to recording and curious subtleties strewn throughout. Woodson’s graphic novel-derived style of illustrations, strategically detailed, colored in very mellow hues and typically of emotional, wordless moments, pairs perfectly with the music held within. And most importantly, they evoke your mind to explore the preceding and following events that could have led to this one particular moment. Though restricted to the 4.75” x 4.715” dimensions of most typical digipaks, the artwork harks back to the time when you put on a record, lay back on your bed and stare wonderingly into an LP sleeve. Take the recently released eponymous debut from Skallander for example. With the first bits of information being translated into the slightly orchestrated, Simon & Garfunkel-derived somber folk-pop, my mind, fixated on the album’s artwork, instantly begins to translate information as well. A story begins to conjure in my head from the moment captured by Woodson’s artwork paired with the music:

“Surrounded by the refreshing crisp air and burnt smell of fall with a pleasant-toned, clear blue sky eerily contradicting the chilled atmosphere, I can’t help but roll atop a large pile of fallen autumnal leaves. It seems kind of kitschy and archetypal of the setting, but there is absolutely nothing I want to hear more at this very moment then the crackling of dead, dried leaves. Besides, it’s not every day I find myself in the Illinois countryside, and I’m pretty sure I need this for my mental stability. I roll; they crackle. I roll and I roll and I roll letting my mind wander back to when I was six, growing up in the rural areas of Connecticut and practically living in nature; a stark contrast to my now completely urban setting of Chicago. I open my eyes momentarily while face down in the leaves and catch a glimpse of the cascading hues of somber reds and yellows and grays and decaying greens. Everything at that moment seems to pause, and my complete mental being concentrates on the seemingly infinite tunnel of leaves in my immediate vision. My brow furrows. Everything about this display is melodious and pleasant and welcoming, but these are dead leaves I’m rolling over. Dead. They were once practically as alive as I am and now here I am crushing and crackling them in their most feeble moments. Suddenly everything doesn’t seem as pleasant, but more fragile… and brittle… and mournful. I can’t help but immediately stand up, mentally exhausted and somewhat disgusted with myself. My mind slumps into a forest of now forlorn thoughts. What the fuck Michael? How old are you? Rolling around in leaves like you don’t have more important things to worry about. I maneuver myself beneath the nearest deciduous tree, wrap my arms around my knees and fall into a detached, melancholy mood.”

Granted this is not a creative writing class, but you can see how easily it is to conjure such imaginary stories with such a potent blend of visual and auditory art.

Inspiring Woodson to explore such an autumnal approach to illustrating is the pair of Bevan Smith and Matthew Mitchell, who record together under the name Skallander. Their eponymous debut rings of both new and old approaches to somber folk music: Simon & Garfunkel to Kings of Convenience, Nick Drake to Jose Gonzalez, Neil Young to Elliott Smith. But what really sells the album to me is the sonic subtleties that surrounded the blueprint folk-pop sound. You may know Smith better as Signer, a purveyor of textural ambient music with hefty nods toward dub and Berlin techno signed to Carpark Records, as well as one-half of the New Zealand-based pattering electro-pop duo Over the Atlantic. The Hungary-based (via New Zealand as well) Mitchell on the other hand is less of a knob twiddler and more of a purveyor of all things acoustic. A renowned jazz guitarist, the multi-instrumentalist (which includes everything from accordion to sitar) has performed with a myriad of musicians from across the globe including Hamid Drake, William Parker and Takagi Masakatsu among many others. Together they have decided to craft somber folk tunes, which would seem over-simplified for the talented pair if they didn’t surround each song with an array of sonic textures and atmospheric bliss.

Skallander peaks early with the third and fourth tracks, but with a length of only ten songs, it doesn’t seem too top heavy at all. After a short, tenderly throbbing instrumental introduction with angelic guitar strums and reedy mini-orchestration swells, and the mood-setting “Forgiven,” “Dismemberment” unleashes the pop perfection that the duo can achieve. With a vocal tone reminiscent of Film School’s n. Lannon, Smith and Mitchell build off a simple two-string acoustic guitar strum. It’s minimal but buoyant and when paired with the patient, melodic vocal phrasing, it excels in a manner that bridges early 70s folk-pop with mid-aughts indie-pop. The song builds slightly round robin with brass and woodwind accents and weaving vocal lines. After a complete breakdown, the song rebuilds with increasing tension among lightly atonal flourishes and a delicate cadence before returning to the blissful chorus, which is now accentuated with fractured drum kit splices and increased urgency. Everything appears seamless, but when listened to closely, sample-like blocks of sound are revealed creating texture beneath the silky pop. “Flesh Born Constellation” follows as the only other song to significantly reach over the four-minute mark. Like “Dismemeberment,” the pair excels when exploring roundabout choruses of interweaving vocals, delicate electric guitar and autumnal toned woodwinds. “Constellation” meanders a bit more, but the vocal hook digs much deeper, not unlike and Erlend Øye-penned pop tune. The duo patiently lets this song develop though, giving ample space for Mitchell to interject jazzy instrumental undertones and Smith to mix in subtle post-produced atmospherics. The song breathes in and out with lustful tension, teasing the listener’s ears before lying to rest with idyllic satisfaction.

Skallander may be a bit more straightforward and poppy than most Type releases, but no less fulfilling. The music, while simple and easily digestible on the surface, is lined with subtle sonic textures that could only be conceived by musicians with ample experience in musical experimentation. Like Woodson’s artwork, it’s somber, autumnal, fragile and nostalgic, evoking a multitude of emotions that sometimes are outright contradictions of each other. Skallander is full of tension, but the kind of sought after tension that comes from spending the night with a significant other for the first time. Everything seems pleasant and eased on the outside, but the insides of each party involved are bubbling with absolute anticipation.