22, A Million // by Bon Iver // album review
I'll admit first of all that I've listened to my friends listen to Bon Iver more than I have myself. I have also heard him in more cafes than I have in my own headphones. I can admit he's great coffee cafe music—chill, non-intrusive, and feels white.
The first few seconds of 22, A Million make me think I was listening to Sigur Ros again, who I haven’t heard in years, for obvious reasons: the struggle to make out the words, sounds foreign, high register voice. But then that classic double-track Bon Iver voice soothes its way in moments later.
The distinguishing characteristic of the new record is that, rather than the open chords and simple plucking on an acoustic guitar behind that angelic voice, 22, A Million is half crunchy electronic drum kits and synths. Another article describing the album taught me the word poly-fi, referring to the mix, or simultaneous use of, hi-fi and lo-fi music (-fi referring to fidelity, quality, and clarity). Imagine 8-bit drums with a live orchestra—a bad exaggeration, but this could probably qualify as poly-fi as well.
It's seems sort of a trend of how indie folk are going a little experimental with auto-tune pop techniques and turning voices into synth sounds. There's also, in both pop and indie, the use of tighter, more attack-heavy tones, giving it that edge. I might argue some of the techniques are tamed post-dubstep inspirations. It reminds me of how overdriven and distorted guitar sounds were first created by basically blowing out speakers cranked to ten. But really it is something new: artists like Bon Iver have found a way to not only make use of this lo-fi, not-the-creator's-intention-kind-of sound into music, but also to tame it and fit into music as chill and sedate as 22, A Million.
And why might this speak to the listener? The insanities given to us every day—I refuse to list them—no matter how tenderly put, are not unnoticed. There is voice in this music that expresses that necessary angst the way it was dealt to us. It is a dull pain, but a pain no less. But why doesn't it have the same rage that the first overdriven rock guitars had? Any punks want to weight in? Because it didn't work? And is that why it feels so hopeless? I digress from the music.
One notable instance of this technique brings out the angst in the falsetto lift of the song "29 #Strafford APTS": you don't know what despair is in this line, and it crackles like a radio losing reception, but it soothes nonetheless—although immediately after, you can make out the word "butterfly." This, and use of the word fuckified, are my complaints on the lyrical content of the album.—which is really the only thing that drags the music down, even if the instrumentation is a perfect outlet for the quiet and calm angst. However, I think the possible emptiness in the lyrical content (if I dare to be that critical) is what makes the music so accessible: it does not take any forthright stand what the ills are, nor how to cure the ills it demonstrates. Perhaps it is meant more to help experience than ponder what-is.
Again, I don't have the wealth of knowledge to say whether 22, A Million is growth, decline, or stagnation here compared to other Bon Iver records. So all I can really say is, yeah, it's worth a listen, and it's interesting how popular Bon Iver has become and what appeal he has.
