On The Shore by Friends Of Dean Martinez (Review)

A chance to rediscover a band that I’d been enamored with quite some time ago and then subsequently lost track of.
On The Shore - Friends of Dean Martinez

My first introduction to the haunting music of Friends Of Dean Martinez came in 1996, when I picked up their Sub Pop debut, The Shadow of Your Smile. For some reason, it was placed amongst a bunch of neo-lounge CDs (e.g., Combustible Edison). However, The Shadow of Your Smile never really felt at home amongst debutantes swilling martinis until the break of dawn whilst clad in sharkskin suits. Rather, with Bill Elm’s lush steel guitar, Southwestern instrumentation, and radio samples, the album seemed destined for wider, more open and arid spaces.

The music of the Friends has always had a cinematic feel to it. Names like Morricone and Leone can’t help but pop up, due mainly to the sepia-colored desert tones of their music (thanks in large part to Elm). Therefore, it’s not too surprising that the first sound you hear on On the Shore is that of a projector starting up, enhancing the idea that you’re about to hear the soundtrack of some longlost film set somewhere out in the Mojave Desert.

What is surprising is that the first track, the appropriately titled “Overload,” is a far cry from their tender ballads. It’s a full on psych-rock outburst, full of clashing drums, distorted bass, and searing guitars that sound like the band is intent on reducing your speaker cabinets to splinters.

Once that’s out of their system, the group settles into far more familiar territory. All of the songs are draped in hazy, psychedelic atmospheres that highlight the criminally gorgeous lap steel. If ever there were an argument as to why instrumental bands don’t need vocalists, it would be Elm’s gorgeous playing, which drips with as much emotion as any human voice (if not more). Of course, the other players (from such notable acts as Giant Sand and Calexico) are no slouches either, contributing lovely guitar tones, effortless drumming, and haunting keys.

As the first disc continues, it just seems to grow lovelier with each passing track. “Alternate Theme” features all of those sounds in fine form, starting off with the lap steel before lapsing into a murky period of eerie organs, ragged guitars, and theremin-like drones. As implied by the name, this does feel like a theme song, perhaps for some late night creature feature playing in the Arizona wastelands at some rundown drive-in. “Through The Wine” finds Elm’s guitar positively soaring over acoustic guitars and brushed cymbals, while “In The Wire” finds it pining away atop a steady beat and gently plucked guitars.

“Wichita Lineman” gets my vote for the most beautiful song of the first disc, with an organ warbling away in the background as Elm’s steel guitar hits notes that are simply heartrending. And in the fine covers tradition the band has established (they’ve covered Henry Mancini and The Beach Boys on previous albums), they turn in a peyote-laced version of “Tennessee Waltz.” The song is drenched in waves of reverb and static that threaten to, and eventually do break and wash over the band’s instrumentation, with Elm crying out from the swell.

After finding myself enraptured by the first disc, I popped in the second disc expecting more of the same, and got a bit of a shock. The second disc finds the band muting their distinctive sound and delving into dense sound collages, tape loops, analog squelches, and drones. It’s not as immediate as the first disc, instead requiring a few more listens to get acclimated to its wandering nature.

However, patient listening will reveal that it contains its fair share of gems. “And Love to Be the Master of Hate” contains shades of Knife in the Water’s more obtuse work, what with the funeral pace and eerie church organ intoning in the background. Meanwhile, the bass snoops around as Mike Semple’s slide guitar lets out the occasional outburst. Compared to the lush, romantic songs of the first disc, this track is all tension and paranoia, which is a good way of describing much of disc two’s material.

Disc one makes for the perfect soundtrack for a wistful, nostalgic drive through the Sequoias. However, the second disc — with songs like “And Love to Be the Master of Hate,” “Indian Summer,” and the icily noir-ish “Omaha” — provides the theme music for that scene when the trip suddenly becomes less idyllic. For when your car inevitably breaks down in some no-name town along Route 666 just as night begins to fall and the denizens begin to stir. However, it’s not all grim and foreboding. Even a darker track like “Indian Summer” still contains the grace you’d expect from the Friends, albeit in a creepier, more distant fashion.

Thankfully, the second disc ends on a peaceful note with “Cahuenga.” The primary instrument here is not Elm’s steel guitar. Rather, it’s Mike Semple’s plucked layers of guitar and bass, whose pensive notes gently guide the song through silken strings and sun-drenched atmospheres. Compared to the darker songs before it, “Cahuenga” feels like a hopeful resolution, like the dawn after a long, harrowing night spent trapped in that desert town. However, when it slowly fades into a collage of birds chirping and other, more alien sounds, it seems to underscore that the relief, as blessed as it is, is but a temporary thing (which makes you cherish it all the more).

On the Shore has become a welcome listen, a chance to rediscover a band that I’d been enamored with quite some time ago and then subsequently lost track of. It’s a beautiful work that contains all of the things that first drew me to their music (have I talked about Bill Elm’s steel guitar enough already?) while throwing out a couple of new twists and turns. It also makes me realize I’ve got three or four more albums to track down, as I suddenly feel the need to make up for lost time.

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