O'Death Outside

Forty-five years after Dylan went electric at the Newport Folk Festival, the same stage witnessed a 'comeback' performance by New York folk rock band O'Death. In truth they'd only been away for about a year, but the press release for their latest album Outside still hails the event as a turning point – not so much because of the legendary setting (imagine what those who cried sell-out at Dylan would have made of O'Death's hillbillies-on-meth punky bluegrass) but rather the fact that the show was a celebration to mark drummer David Rogers-Berry overcoming cancer.

For a band as obsessed with the macabre as O'Death, a brush with mortality may seem grimly ironic, but the question of what effect such misfortune would have on their music is an intriguing one. In the past they've come across as intriguing and energetic, but ultimately insincere, being as they are a bunch of Brooklyn hipsters playing bloodthirsty Appalachian-style folk. Would Outside see them continue to place attitude and aggression over authenticity, or would the events of their unfortunate hiatus be reflected in more thoughtful and heartfelt material?

Going by the evidence of the album's opening track, it seems that they've bravely gone for the latter. Bugs is a world away from their previously dark and demented sound, being a soft, unassuming number with more than a little Paul Simon about it, and, while it's undeniably about mortality (the album's first line being 'I know that days don't come back') it's absolutely delightful. Ghost Head may start with the clattering of drums, but it continues the surprisingly elegant tone, featuring as it does some rather delicate banjo work and fine vocal harmonies, sounding something like a dark twin of Fleet Foxes (an east coast-west coast rivalry between O'Death and the Seattle based group would be an interesting thing to see). It seems that the previously ramshackle and chaotic band have started to grow up and develop their sound a little.

Then Alamar comes on and throws cold water on the theory, as it's yet another antiquated tale of love tragically and violently lost, something the O'Death back catalogue is already full of. It's not an complete disappointment, the shuffling percussion and woozy violin parts are lovely, but it marks the band settling back into their comfortable groove, which they don't try to shake out of for much of what follows.

Other than a few diversions – the flirtation with Bugs' bittersweet romance in Black Dress' chorus; Howling Through's attempts to capture Godspeed You! Black Emperor in miniature; the ear-catchingly sparse production of Look at the Sun (although the song itself is business as usual) – the rest of Outside can be summed up as more OTT takes on death and despair. O'Death may be exceptionally good at what they do (it's probably the best modern album of murder ballads since Nick Cave's Murder Ballads – not that there's been much competition in the field) but the songs become harder and harder to separate from each other, and the overwhelming sense of morbidity starts to drag. Don't Come Back and Pushing Out even see O'Death use the same trick of setting violent lyrics against a lighter, breezier musical accompaniment on two songs in a row.

You can't say that O'Death don't warn the listener about their fondness for wallowing in the gloom, however the lack of desire to stretch themselves does continue to be a frustration. By mixing in a few lighter moments amongst all the dark the band do give the impression that they are on the way to becoming something quite special, but they still need to consider letting in a little more colour and variety into their songs before they can achieve this potential.