The Waterfall vs. Wilder Mind: A Tale of Two Americanas

"Americana." "New Folk." "Southern Rock." Each of these labels brings with it different connotations and influences on music across the rock soundscape, sometimes for better, and often for worse. In the wake of two huge releases this week, I'd like to reflect on what makes a good American album, seen through the lenses of two related, but far different pieces of music in quality and execution.

Riding the crest of the wave that has popularized the blend of rock music and folk, making the banjo ubiquitous on the popular rock scene. Mumford & Sons has conquered their niche through a relatively brief tenure: only two albums and a smattering of singles and TV appearances led them to sold out concerts across the globe, a host of Grammy nominations, and a sound that has been copied by scores of lesser bands, both popular and (oddly) religious. I have to clear the air and state the obvious: for all the banjos, foot stomping, and flannel shirts, these guys are definitely not American. They come from the loosely defined "scene" of West London acts that emerged strumming and picking their dobros, mandolins, and guitars in the late 2000s. The closest thing to American would be Marcus Mumford himself, the dual-citizen son of megachurch missionaries who started their family in Southern California. Wilder Mind marks their third release and greets us amidst some considerable hype. Given the band's meteoric rise and popularity, does the new music live up to their legend?

The second band I'd like to talk about here has been on the American rock music scene much longer. Before Mumford & Sons were even on the same continent, James Olliges, Jr. formed My Morning Jacket from the ashes of several music projects in his native Louisville, Kentucky. Olliges adapted the moniker Jim James and set out to make some of the most ambitious American music of the past decades. By the time Mumford & Sons released Sigh No More in 2009, MMJ had released five albums, headlined music festivals, and defied genres by spinning a signature rock sound out of disparate elements of soul, country, psychedelia, and roots rock. After a few years nursing the mixed success of their last two albums, the Appalachian group have burst back onto the scene with media appearances, interviews, and promises of another album out sometime next year. The Waterfall is a lean 48 minutes and ten tracks long. Does it pack more punch than we've come to expect, or is it time for James to hang up the Flying V?

First, let's head across the pond. To be honest, Wilder Mind had a lot of potential to transform Mumford's unique sound into something transcending the sometimes disdained labels associated with the New Folk movement. For this album, the band shacked up in Aaron Dessner's Brooklyn studio where such acts as his main gig The National have recorded their series of stellar and deadpan indie rock records. Gone are the banjos and dobros. The guys sling electric guitars now, synthesized keyboards, reverb, and a full drum kit...played in one piece. On the opener "Tompkins Square Park," one might be reminded of Interpol, the Strokes, or other acts that have made waves in the garage rock revival of last decade.  As soon as Marcus Mumford begins the verse, however, the results take us back to their classic sound. His bellows are full of drawn out vowels, accented by flourishes of pinprick electric guitar, driven by the relentless rhythm section behind. It's as if the sunny, wooden charm of past work has taken a night drive into the seedier parts of town. The idealism hasn't gone. Mumford may try to convince us that he doesn't know what he believes on the lead single "Believe," but I see a keen sense of melody that is ultimately wasted on shallow platitudes about love and betrayal. The album doesn't resolve anything really, and the rule of thumb for M&S to put one dramatic f-word in a strategic place comes midway through the song "Monster," ... "so f**k your dreams, ... I'll turn into a monster if you pay me enough," he sings, almost lazily. Indeed. The choice to enlist Dessner in production and the eschewing of traditional folk instrumentation shows us that M&S don't intend on dying in their prescribed niche market of influential pop rock. But the execution doesn't prove anything about their talent, and most of the lyrics don't really say anything at all. It's as if they're trying to convince us of their legitimacy without pushing anything particularly convincing. Often musical risks accompany a deeper work in artistry, as evinced excellently by some of England's finest rock predecessors. This isn't risky, and it isn't good art. It's pedestrian pop, and shame on us for expecting greater.

Leave it to Jim James and company to save me from my musical frustration. The Waterfall is not only a cohesive tour of everything My Morning Jacket does best, but it's a less subtle shift in style that a crisis would invoke. We hear the gorgeous wash of reverb. It's not as overt as some of the earlier work, notably on the 2005 masterwork Z, but it is here. Non-technical lead solos and guitar ornamentation sprinkle the album from the opener to the wonderful closing number "Only Memories Remain," which has been on repeat the past several hours as I picture one pretty scene passing by after another. It's not a revolution that we hear on this set of songs. It's a foray through that pastiche of genres that somehow has become a thing in itself and has rendered the band that place among rock that many aim for but few achieve: inimitability. I don't want to ruin the experience for you by breaking down every great moment in this series of ten tracks. It hasn't reached the greatness of past work. We hear the type of rebel yell that mark the best live moments (think "Gideon") only a few times. But James hasn't lost it. I anxiously await the next step. Do I have to wait a year?