Elliott Brood strikes me as a band that would be right at home in an episode of the HBO show Deadwood. If nothing else, they'd at least supply a capable soundtrack. All the touch-points are there - country-punk sensibility with a sprinkling of rockabilly. The sing-songy campfire ditties and crooning ballads. With almost no familiarity of the band other than these 13 songs, I have no trouble picturing them on stage in a saloon while men play poker and hookers saunter from table to table. Where some bands strive for that polished sound and smooth harmonies (Bedouin Soundclash, I'm looking at you), Elliott Brood is all sharp edges and weather-beaten roughness - the songs strewn about the record like the windblown prairies they evoke.
It's clear that the ghost of Tom Waits (were he dead) hovers throughout this album, pulling strings like a demented puppet-master, but Elliott Brood can never quite match him for sheer lunacy and darkness. Instead they're happy to live on the sunnier side of things with bright sounding acoustic guitars, banjo's and lots of marching snare drum.
Kicking off with the steam-train rumble of Fingers and Tongues, the album pulls you right through the dust-bowl, powering westward in search of something more. By the third track you're keenly aware they have little time for subtlety and refinement, opting instead for blunt force trauma with the infectious Write it All Down For You. This is Elliott Brood at their best, making an acoustic guitar and ukulele sound as powerful as any Marshal stack turned to eleven. Unfortunately this is quickly followed by the rather generic Without Again - which isn't a bad song, but pushed up next to Write it All Down For You comes across as weak and ineffective.
The rest of the album is similar in vein - one bold step forward is usually followed by a sideways one. None of these songs are bad, but they didn't exactly leave me breathlessly begging for more. I'd mentioned earlier that the songs were strewn around the album, and it wasn't just flowery prose. One of the reasons Mountain Meadows doesn't quite click for me is that the album doesn't feel cohesive. At times it feels more like an out-of-control car hurtling towards a horizon that never seems to come.
Elliott Brood have definitely earned their ranks among the Polaris Prize nominees with a good album. There are tracks that hint at brilliance (like the moody and atmospheric 31 Years), and some that are just sort of middle of the road (The Valley Town) and things that sounded downright familiar (Garden River sure felt a lot like Social Distortion doing Ring of Fire). But even if that's not your cup of tea (or sasparilla) at least they'll make you feel a little lawless for 45 minutes, and that's never a bad thing.
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