Elf Power
In a Cave
(Rykodisc, 2008)

Back in my younger and more impressionable days, namely high school, I went through about a three-month period where the only bands I’d listen to carried the Elephant 6 seal of approval. I’d blame Neutral Milk Hotel’s In the Aeroplane Over the Sea for this condition if I didn’t feel at least a little guilty attaching a verb as pejorative as “blame” to a subject so dear to my heart as Aeroplane. Pretty much every band I discovered during that oh-so-poppy period of my life was something I really enjoyed, like Of Montreal and Olivia Tremor Control, which are bands that I still listen to on a regular basis. In fact, there was only one Elephant 6 band’s record that I bought that I didn’t whole-heartedly embrace, Elf Power’s debut, Vainly Clutching at Phantom Limbs. (Ironically, this first record was released solely through Arena Rock before the band’s attachment to Elephant 6 with their following release When the Red King Comes). The barebones lo-fi aesthetic, the off-the-wall lyrical weirdness, and all the freakin’ twee grated on my nerves. I listened to it and thought to myself, “I could make this,” and I wasn’t quite at the point in my life where I could ever imagine that being a positive thing.

Cut to today, when I popped in the Elf Power’s new album In a Cave and was pleasantly surprised at how nicely the band had developed—even though I really shouldn’t have been. Elf Power recorded their debut over a decade ago and, eight albums later, they’ve recorded an album of hazy yet bright pop songs that stay true to their Elephant 6 kin, while showing years of artistic growth. Really, more than anything else, In a Cave sounds like an Olivia Tremor Control record on Ritalin. The Olivia Tremor Control-like tendencies are no accident; former Tremor Controller Eric Harris plays on the album and shares songwriting credits with the band’s frontman, Andrew Reiger.

Here songs are built up from a solid pop foundation that splits the difference between late-period Beatles and the work of Brian Wilson with a sleepy haze that drifts over the whole affair—especially in Reiger’s vocals. On most of the songs, Reiger sings like he’s drifting in and out of sleep. The songs on the album that work best, like “Softly Through the Void” and “Quiver and Quake”, all have one thing in common: A driving force that pushes the song out of a floating dreamland and into upbeat, indie-pop city. Usually this “drive” comes from the rhythm section, a McCartney-esque bassline, or a surging drum beat. Without that drive songs carelessly drift away as if in a fog. The song “A Tired Fog” is a prefect example; an attempt at the avant-garde with random guitar stabs and whirring background noise, this song absolutely begs for a cohesive element to hold it together, which finally comes near the end of the song in the form of a tiny guitar melody for about 10 seconds. Instead of tying the previous two-and-a-half minutes together, it reveals a wasted opportunity.

When that forceful rhythmic push is there, Reiger’s pop hooks just shine. The second the drums kick in on the very next song, “Paralyzed”, it sounds like an entirely different band, playful and bouncy with energy to spare. That energy is exactly what drives the good songs on this album out of the cave and into the sunlight.

Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]