9

Becoming A Jackal

There are two sides to Villagers, both revolve around Conor J. O’Brien. In the solo guise, O’Brien has supported the likes of Neil Young and Wild Beasts. Sparingly using a backing band, this album gifts Villagers a well supported platform on which to become more than just a solo side project. For an opening track, ‘I Saw The Dead’ sets a distinctive macabre tone. Amidst fervent piano then driving drum thuds, O’Brien paints a vivid picture using poetry set to rich, classical undertones. Though the lyrics themselves become somewhat sinister, a personal touch features throughout.

‘Becoming A Jackal’ gifts O’Brien more space to showcase his delicious voice, wrapping each syllable in a honey dripping hue. Behind him is a multi-layered cavalcade of sound were bass guitar throbs, piano provides menace and electric guitar deftly features only when needed. Despite the assured title, O’Brien has already proved deceptive enough and ‘Ship of Promises’ is no different. Even with a rollocking of guitar licks and keyboards he cannot help himself with more despairing lyrics as he frets “Another day, another denial. Every longing up on trial”. Curiously, there is even room for disturbing electronica to close the track as it slowly, skillfully morphs into ‘The Meaning of The Ritual’. Here, O’Brien seems ever more lonely even when accompanied by a painfully strummed acoustic guitar and orchestral atmospherics.

‘Home’ takes an altogether different approach, gifting O’Brien an echoed accomplice which gifts the track a disarming, homely touch and the vocalist himself an added confidence for a touching, sprightly ditty. However disturbed the album opened, ‘That Day’, takes a trip down nostalgia lane amidst sunshine addled acoustic guitar with O’Brien’s vocals now taking on an altogether sweeter, brasher tone.

As if fully reunited with his backing band, ‘The Pact (I’ll Be Your Fever)’ swoons of angels to Simon and Garfunkel-esque charming funk. ‘Set The Tigers Free’ sets its gaze closer to home with a plaintive farewell to a friend to deceivingly slow percussion and the hum of a close-up bass guitar. Whilst impressing throughout with the tense, gentle sound of lilting acoustics, ‘Twenty Seven Strangers’ fails to ever get going and suffers for a decidedly plodding approach of insipid percussion and even O’Brien himself struggles to get excited. ‘Pieces’ begins with a similarly tame approach, only the twinkling piano and soothing orchestral backing seem sympathetic to O’Brien’s taut, high-pitched vocals. Subdued until a midpoint refrain; electric guitar bursts in and O’Brien responds with the sort of emotional wailing that one expects after a particularly bitter break-up. Even the lucid heartfelt notions are overcome by passionate repetition as he yelps “I’ve been in pieces” then howls. We’ve all been there haven’t we; only on this occasion a heroic breakdown of rampant strings provides the acoustics.

The album could easily end on that sublimely chaotic note but Villagers are not quite done with us and ‘To Be Counted Among Men’ provides O’Brien with one final chance to serenade. Thankfully the closing track excels in its own simplicity with austere lyrics coupled with effortless acoustic guitar yet hardly the fanfare of a climax the album promised.