Wye Oak - Shriek

Wye Oak - Shriek

Rating: 7.5

Jenn Wasner Rocks. As the lead singer/guitarist of Baltimore’s Wye Oak, she’s a wailing, pulsing force, conjuring walls of sound and jagged guitar riffs that swarm Andy Stack’s hammering drums. In concert, the duo often sound like a full band, creating sonic textures that can fill a room. They can also pare it down in softer songs that highlight Jenn’s soulful voice and a knack for strange but compelling melodies. Up until their newest release, the two had been cultivating and perfecting this sound; in that respect, their breakout album, 2011’s Civilian, was an absolute success.

It must be hard, though, for a two-person band not to feel stuck after a few albums (unless, of course, you’re The Black Keys). Most try to alleviate this with studio trickery, but very few actually grab new instruments and start from scratch. For Shriek, Jenn dropped the guitar and picked up the bass, while Andy added the keyboard to his drumming duties (certainly not an easy feat – most of us can barely walk and talk at the same time). It’s a gutsy move, if a little reckless; the guitar is not only the band’s best asset, it’s what they've built most of their songs around. The result is a dramatically different sound that recalls the sheen and drama of mid-80’s adult contemporary pop, sans irony. If that sentence makes you gag a little, this album might not be for you.

On past albums, Wye Oak’s attention to detail and willingness to explore the dynamics of volume and texture had created visceral, varied listens that were at once rough and sleek. Shriek eschews this kind of variation for a polished sound that, in comparison, hews dangerously close to homogeneity. Still, there is some stunning instrumental work hidden under the gloss, especially when Jenn really goes at it on the bass – the flittering, funky bass line behind the chorus in “Glory” and the offbeat crescendo at the end of “The Tower” come to mind. If she’s out to prove that she can excel at more than one instrument, mission accomplished. It also helps that the songwriting has never been stronger; the tracks on Shriek work surprisingly well, despite being limited to a rigid sonic framework.

Consequently, Shriek is an album that could have very easily been very boring, but instead manages to maintain a level of structural, melodic and lyrical playfulness that keeps things engaging. The missteps – most notably “Sick Talk” and “Despicable Animal” – are a little too vanilla, exhibiting the group’s worst throwback impulses without offering anything new or interesting to offset them. They’re forgivable only because, in the context of the album, they float by harmlessly. To that end, the group’s new sound is both its weakest asset and its saving grace; while it stifles their talent for adventurous textures and dynamic tonal shifts, its sanded down, polished edges create a gliding momentum that makes Shriek an easy to listen from start to finish.

Some Wye Oak fans will undoubtedly be turned off by such a drastic shift. This is as unavoidable as it is appropriate – if you like a band for it’s loud guitars and thundering drums, you really can’t be blamed for jumping ship when they get rid of both – but those who stick around will find plenty to cheer about. A suggestion for the next album, though: give Jenn the guitar back and hire a bassist.