Midlake - Bamnan and Slivercork (2004)

1) They Cannot Let It Expand; 2) Balloon Maker; 3) Kingfish Pies; 4) I Guess I'll Take Care; 5) Some of Them Were Superstitious; 6) The Reprimand; 7) The Jungler; 8) He Tried to Escape; 9) Mopper's Medley; 10) No One Knew Where We Were; 11) Anabel; 12) Mr. Amateur

A rock album molded into a dreamlike ramble through gorgeous, crackling synthesizers. One of a kind, even within the band's own catalogue.

Key tracks: "Balloon Maker", "Some of Them Were Superstitious", "No One Knew Where We Were"

There are two aspects to Bamnan and Slivercork that I instantly associate with the album when asked to describe it, and one of them is the world that the record creates. Midlake have a knack for creating little pocket universes with their records in a way that seems completely accidental, where separate threads form a web that could - if you squint a little - create a conceptual whole. Bamnan and Slivercork wasn't intended to be a concept album of any kind, but thanks to the ever-so-slightly off-kilter lean it has in its presentation, performance and writing, it inadvertently creates something that could be. The nonsensical name, the visual presentation from the strangely arresting cover to the surreal videos and the dream-like lyrics collaborate to build a coherent reality out of the balloon makers, one-armed scientists, ominous monocle men (which the cover depicts), love-lorn janitors, bird suit wearing swordsmen and murdered lovers who share their rambling dream-like story vignettes song by song; stories that seem real but don’t quite belong to our reality. Midlake would really tap into that skill of make-believe concept albums with the rural lore of The Trials of Van Occupanther, but it's already so present on their debut that it's one of its most tangible characteristics; despite not even being officially classed as one, it sounds more like a story album than most concept albums do. You then pay more attention to the music because of the words that accompany them, and vice versa, and they both play off against eachother's traits.

From the very beginning, Midlake have been a restless band who never quite found a slot they felt they belonged in. They were jazz musicians first, who then wanted to go rock; by their debut album they had already gone through a number of line-up changes and style shifts. That restlessness feeds into the sound of Bamnan and Slivercork, recorded way before frontman Tim Smith’s rigid perfectionism started to shape the band. Nominally the album slots comfortably into the millennial US indie canon but the extended instrumental passages bridging the verses and choruses hint at wider inspiration points, the shuffling liveliness of the drums so in contrast with the rest of the instrumentation nods at the original jazz influences, and the whole album feels like it’s been rearranged for a different band from the who wrote the songs. It's got one foot in rock band dynamics, another one in psychedelic sound textures, and it's played by people who are freely mixing up all their influences together in wild abandon. It’s album’s other key aspect and its arguable signature element which brings it all together: the synthesizers.

The best thing about the preceding Milkmaid Grand Army EP were the fuzzy synthesizers that were used to a distinguishable degree, with their instantly recognisable signature tones breathing a different kind of life to the Radiohead-esque guitar sound the EP had. On Bamnan and Slivercork those synths have been turned into the de facto lead instrument. The guitars are little more than a flavouring or a rhythmic accompaniment, with the synths taking charge as the key melodic and textural elements; the only things sharing space to an equal degree with them are Tim Smith's wispy voice and the lively drums that lock into vibrant grooves. The warm synthetic sounds crackle, bleep and fuzz all over the twelve songs and for many songs they're the stars that deliver the hooks and capture the imagination, whether they're all out there like the pitch-shifting robo-voice melody of “He Tried to Escape” or the more tasteful atmospheric electronic wallpaper that drapes over the instrumental passages of “No One Knew Where We Were”. They’re gorgeous and unique textures, and the usage of these instruments on Bamnan and Slivercork is not just masterful, but integral to the record; above and beyond the usual "indie bands do synths" trope we've heard a thousand times by now. If the pseudo-conceptual nature of the album is what inspires the listener to dig deep into it, it's the synths that pull you to take the shovel in your hand.

The overall aesthetics and themes of the album are clearly the most identifiable elements of Bamnan and Slivercork when assessing it, but the actual songs are far from being secondary to everything else. Bamnan and Slivercork operates differently to its more famous siblings but from a pure songwriting perspective, it's among the strongest set of songs in the band's catalogue. The busy, swirling “Balloon Maker” is a quintessential Midlake classic, riding a marching beat and a set of horns across its synth-laden dreamscape, and rising above its meager beginnings in the chorus full of bittersweetness and yearning. “No One Knew Where We Were”, "Kingfish Pies" and “Mopper’s Medley” have a shuffle underneath their feet and a bounce in their heart, with Midlake operating as a tight interplaying unit of musicians in a way that the more rigid later albums would shy away from; they're downright exuberant in their swinging and grooving. “I Guess I’ll Take Care” and “He Tried to Escape” are mid-tempo heaven, their signature synth sounds carrying them forward high and mighty, Smith's voice showing just how effective his particular soft tone is for harmonising quiet melancholy and desperation. And you know an album is great when even the slow-burner intro and the interlude are stand-outs in their own way - especially the latter, the instrumental "The Reprimand" which is a short ode to the album's synthesizers and has a lot more longevity than you'd expect.

The closing duo of short, end credits roll themes of "Anabel" and "Mr. Amateur" bring the album to a quiet, contemplative closure and it feels appropriate as the strange stories of Bamnan and Slivercork come to an end. It's a singular journey of an album, with hints of other ideas and inspirations but brought together uniquely, not least because the band themselves hold such a wide range of instrumental styles that play with eachother so well here - and with the way and the rejigged sound that the band would take off with shortly after this, that notion of this being a one-of-a-kind deal is reinforced even further. Bamnan and Slivercork is above all a set of great songs, even if that aspect might have been downplayed when talking about its other traits, but those other aspects really raise it above ground, coaxing you to keep revisiting the world that Midlake have created just for this one album.

And I just really love those synths.

Rating: 9/10

Midlake - Milkmaid Grand Army EP (2001)

1) She Removes Her Spiral Hair; 2) Paper Gown; 3) Excited But Not Enough; 4) I Lost My Bodyweight in the Forest; 5) Simple; 6) Roller Skate (Farewell June); 7) Golden Hour

Debut EPs rarely fully showcase what the artist in question would turn out to be like, but if you want to hear Midlake having a bit of an alt rock crunch to them, here's the only place you'll get a chance to.

Key tracks: "She Removes Her Spiral Hair", "Roller Skate (Farewell June)"

There's a fair few years between Midlake's first EP and their first album, and an even longer gap towards their breakthrough album The Trials of Van Occupanther and the arrival of what could be considered their signature sound. During those years Midlake were moving from sound to sound in search of something they could call their own. That Milkmaid Grand Army EP doesn't really connect sonically to any other Midlake release isn't too unexpected given the time between it and everything else, but it's still surprising because it's just so off the beaten path for them. Way before the fuzzy synths or the pastoral folk rock, Midlake's greatest inspiration (by their own words) was OK Computer and the sullen British guitar rock of the late 90s, and that's what they wanted to replicate.

It's strange to hear Tim Smith's voice over such straightforwardly guitar-rocking cuts - a real alternate universe what-if experience -  and maybe it's better for their legacy that the band moved away from this sound pretty quickly, but hot damn they're actually good at it. "She Removes Her Spiral Hair", "Excited But Not Enough" and "Roller Skate" are a great combination of britrock hooks with US indie je ne sais quoi quirk: the guitars have a good crunch to them, they're backed by the gorgeous retro synthesizers the band would emphasise for their debut, and while atypically rocking for this band they make the sound and songs theirs. They're missing a lot of what would make Midlake great when they became all grown up, but in the place of those aspects these songs have their own strengths. "She Removes Her Spiral Hair" is close to top-tier Midlake overall, with its pounding drums, swooning chorus and excellent, detail-oriented arrangement - and the other two aren't too far, with "Excited But Not Enough" dialling up the rock band intensity and the upbeat "Roller Skate" frolicking on with an off-kilter sense of fun, handclaps and all. The only downside here is the awkward sound swithc in "Excited But Not Enough" close to its end, which honestly sounds like an editing error taking away the joint between the song's two clear segments. I honestly thought my copy had an error in it; it's the one part of the EP that's scruffy and wobbles with the first steps.

Excluding the brief and rather non-descript instrumental interlude "I Lost My Bodyweight in the Forest", the other three songs are a more familiar fare. "Paper Gown", "Simple" and "Golden Hour" are all moodier mid-tempo cuts, gently pacing forward in their weariness: they also edge closer to a more familiar Midlake sound and could be Bamnan and Slivercork outtakes if you squint your eyes a little. They're good songs, but a little one-note and samey - I still mix them up - and the alternation between them and the guitar-heavier songs mainly just serves to highlight the excitement of the other three songs, reducing the mid-tempo posse into extended bridges between them. "Paper Gown" is the best of the lot because it has a bit more life to it than the other two and in its overall arrangement resembles the distant cousin of the songs it's sandwiched between, but these aren't the songs that make this EP interesting for fans.

That said, filing Milkmaid Grand Army EP into the same just-for-fans drawer most debut EPs end up in is a little unkind. There's nothing rough in this and it only really looks like an awkward party crasher because it's so far removed in relation to how Midlake would actually eventually sound like (in any part of their transformation-full career). It's a fully realised vision, which could have easily acted as a launch pad for a different kind of career; Midlake simply chose to pursue other ideas. It's far from a hidden gem too but the songs for most parts stand up proudly; and I'd be delighted to hear more from the mirror universe version of Midlake who'd go on to move directly forward from here.

Rating: 7/10

Midlake - The Courage of Others (2010)

1) Acts of Man; 2) Winter Dies; 3) Small Mountain; 4) Core of Nature; 5) Fortune; 6) Rulers, Ruling All Things; 7) Children of the Grounds; 8) Bring Down; 9) The Horn; 10) The Courage of Others; 11) In the Ground

Is it classic folk rock romanticism anymore when it's all so bleak and dark? Warm acoustic tones meet impenetrable sadness.

Key tracks: "Acts of Man", "Rulers, Ruling All Things", "Children of the Grounds"

Pray for all to end / And silence be all / Now the joy has burned out and it’s gone / But I don’t know where

If Midlake albums were a continuous tale, here’s what the story so far would be. A group of people decided to abandon the trappings of modern life and the mysterious monocle men of Bamnan and Slivercork, shedding away modern technology and finding a new peaceful existence in the wild frontiers. The Trials of Van Occupanther would tell their story - of a rural life not without its hardships, but more idyllic in its harmonious, natural way. The Courage of Others brings with it the darkest winter. The cold world is cruel and where once were many, now only some remain. In the middle of the forest, huddled around a lonely campfire, a group of men sing sad laments, knowing in their hearts they’ll likely never see the spring again.

The Courage of Others mostly continues where The Trials of Van Occupanther left off with its rootsier folk rock revival inspiration, but nonetheless there’s a huge gap between the two albums in how that sound is approached. The general feel is once again intimate and warm in its core but rich and layered in its arrangements, but this time the music’s heart has been covered by an impenetrable bleakness: not enough to be a thoroughly dark album but there is next to no hope or joy found here. The lyrics are filled with laments for lost opportunities and a desire for things to either change to something else completely or to simply just end, and the music seems to have never even heard of a major chord. The lush strings and horns of Van Occupanther are gone and replaced with a lone flute, quietly singing sorrowful melodies throughout the album while the sparingly used, piercing electric guitars and the band’s now-trademark layered vocal harmonies push the momentum onwards. It’s an album that has lost sight of the light at the end of the tunnel and sounds understatedly gorgeous as it fumbles around in the dark.

It is, unsurprisingly, a slow burner of an album. The Courage of Others is not an album of big stand-out moments like “Roscoe” or “Balloon Maker”, or even ones that make a bigger splash within the album itself. “Acts of Man” distills the essence of the album in its very first three minutes so effectively that you could claim it’s the album’s signature moment, and the (relative) energy and more notable electric guitar use of “Children of the Grounds”, “The Horn” and “Rulers, Ruling All Things” make them pop out by default, but by and far The Courage of Others doesn’t bother with instantly recognisable hits. The songs largely blend together into one, 40-minute tragic ballad, each sequence clearly distinct in their details but not enough for me to be able to associate them with the actual song names. The individual elements are all lovely - Tim Smith’s still-gorgeous voice, the masterful vocal harmonies, the intricate guitars, the perfectionistically arranged additional flourishes - but each song uses them so similarly that separating them from one another requires a lot of effort.

That slight non-descriptness of it all does deduct points away from the album and out of the original Midlake trilogy this is the obvious weak link. But don’t let that brush you away from it. The Courage of Others takes a long, patient time to work its charms but it eventually will - it’s not suitable for all occasions, but for a specific mood that begs for this kind of acoustic folk rock with a soul full of sorrow, it does the job most wonderfully. There’s a strange kind of comfort to its melancholy and a striking loveliness to its craft - something that will get completely lost in the wrong context. Given the attention and right mindset though, The Courage of Others reveals its strengths and what makes it unique from its two more universally lovable older siblings. Where it lacks in songwriting it emphasises the mood, and to Midlake’s credit they get fairly far with it.

Rating: 7/10