MOG

3 stars (out of 5)

In 2004 when Tilly and the Wall released their debut album Wild Like Children, I recall it garnering a lot of media attention for a group virtually unheard of at the time. Most of the buzz was likely due to its release on touted Saddle Creek artist Conor Oberst’s independent label Team Love. I also remember thinking that the album did a pretty good job of living up to that hype.

Songs like "I Always Know" off of that first album with its tinkering keys and strumming acoustic parts backing a soft, somewhat husky, one-dimensional female vocal track, at the time, painted a fairly palpable introduction to Tilly and the Wall’s music—obscurely folk-rooted, galloping indie pop ala Cat Powery syncopation, Mirah-laden vocal tones, and that famous melodramatic Saddle Creek delivery. But that was then.

Here we are four years later and Tilly and the Wall’s third album, o has been released. While I hesitate to recommend this album to the uninitiated, count this one as another stepping stone in the musical progression of the Nebraskan five-some.

If you’re a fan of records by the likes of Cursive, The Faint, and Jenny Lewis & the Watson Twins, you might want to pay attention to o, as well-known producer Mike Mogis is responsible for all of the above. Not so fast, though—before you all rush out and scoop up this album to add to your indie-art album collection assuming that you already know what you’re getting, be prepared to hear something a little different.

Remember when Radiohead dove into the experimental stuff with Kid A and folks either loved it or hated it or sat there slack-jawed and just didn’t know what to make of it? Well, while this isn’t Kid A, if you are a fan of Tilly and the Wall’s previous albums, your reaction to o might be similar to how you reacted to that shift in Radiohead’s sound.

Why am I predicting such a mixed response, you ask? First of all, most of the album is rhythm-centric, rather than melodic—and the central rhythm parts are coming from weird sources. Tilly and the Wall use guitars, keys, effects (including what sounds like horns and wind chimes) and even the tap dancing of band member Jamie for much of their percussion.

Consider o Tilly and the Wall’s experimental album. If the music itself doesn’t sell it for you, the final track called "Too Excited" that starts off with some violent tapping (yes, that’s an oxymoron, and appropriately so) and then leaves us with the final message of "well I say ‘boo hoo,’ and I say ‘fuck you,’" should settle that. Whether you like or loath o comes down to the basic pros and cons of this album.

Let’s start with pros. Some folks will likely find the "tap dancers in an empty dancehall" sound and the complexities of the rhythmic drive in o to be unique and refreshing. There are also endearing moments of this album that have the potential to really grow on you. "Cacophony" is one such track. While the song starts out with a repetitive clopping, and you might be tempted to show that "skip track" button some love, the bridge into the refrain around halfway through the song brings it all back home, and the song makes sense from there on out.

Although, o consists entirely of original material, one might wonder if the band is paying homage to some of their influences with song titles like "Pot Kettle Black" (Wilco?) and "Blood Flowers" (The Cure?). Certainly, Wilco’s tinny noise-pop of more recent years made an impact on Tilly and the Wall, and I wouldn’t doubt that listening to The Cure had something to do with the ‘80s synth-pop track "Falling Without Knowing," which sounds like it came from a Molly Ringwald movie soundtrack.

Now, for the cons. First off, the multiple layers of rhythm tracks make it difficult to pay attention at times. When the melody gets buried under all of the claps and taps and beeps as it does several times throughout the album, Tilly and the Wall have a hard time holding my attention—and yours too, I suspect. If there was some form of audible epilepsy that we were all at risk of, a warning label on the album cover would be merited.

Instead of giving the songs dimension, as I imagine is the intention, the combination of layered dead-pan vocals, the horse-trot high-end percussion, and the occasional organ chimes and circus kazoos (or accordion?), instead, ends up being anticlimactic and makes you feel like you’re at a birthday party sing-a-long without knowing or caring what the lyrics are.

While I like the idea of using unconventional means of making music, using tap dancing, specifically, as recorded rhythm just does not translate well without the visual. It’s about as satisfying as eating a cheeseless cheese sandwich.

The verdict? If you consider yourself a fan of the band and their musical contemporaries: splurge. It’s good to hear change once in a while. If you’re not familiar with the band, but this all sounds vaguely intriguing: I recommend revisiting 2004 and starting with Wild Like Children. The new album will make even less sense to you without having heard the debut album first. If this sounds like it might give you a headache: it probably will.

Note: That album title, by the way, is not "O"—as in Karen O., or Conor O.—but a nameless symbol that is part of the handmade cutout artwork created for the album’s cover. Just so we’ve got that straight.