Broken Bells is a strange existence – but most side-projects are. Musicians already have their bands and already headline shows, so why start over? Is the main gig too rigid? Are they itching for more than the band can provide? Are their bandmates, heaven forbid, 

 With luck, it’s usually just the second one. The first and third annihilate lifelong friendships and everyone loses. Still, it’s that second option that is the strangest. Are those musicians feeling genre fatigue? What is it that they want to say – want to 

 – that just isn’t possible with the main act?

Broken Bells, or rather the duo at the heart of it all, James Mercer of The Shins and producer Brian Burton (A.K.A. Danger Mouse), released their debut album, the self-titled 

, in 2010. This fell between The Shins’ 2007 album 

 in 2012. It seemed at that point that it was just a one-off thing, but then 

 in 2014 heralded the return of Broken Bells and they became an act in their own right. Not just that – Broken Bells became one of the best acts in indie.

What set Mercer ofThe Shins apart from Mercer of Broken Bells is clearly in his lyrics. The Shins play whimsical, manic outbursts of the heart with incomprehensible words and scenes, but Broken Bells tone down the energy to wail about the woes of the soul with cutting remarks and constant questions. From “The Ghost Inside,” “Citizen,” and “The Mall & Misery” on 

 to “Leave It Alone,” “The Angel and the Fool,” and “The Remains of Rock & Roll” on 

, Broken Bells has produced masterpieces of malaise and world-weariness. Sometimes, it feels like Mercer traded fun dance tunes for songs that make you want to just lie down on the floor. With 

 doesn’t fail to impress throughout the whole runtime. With hints of classic psych, the slow, steady percussion and synthetic stabs form a trance-like background for Mercer’s vocals and surprisingly grounded acoustic guitar. When the longer synth drones kick in, it feels like an extension of the vocals themselves. Tracks like “We’re Not In Orbit Yet…” and “Fade Away” almost seem like a living orchestra where everything has a repeating pulse that grows, ages, and eventually dies. Very fitting, since the former is about learning not to burn out your life too fast while the latter is about the inevitable end of everything that isn’t stone.

The songs also seem oddly nostalgic: “Love On The Run,” for instance, features brass backing that I swear sounds like Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer.” It’s more than that, though: the lullaby tone, the slight fuzzy filters on some backing instruments, and the explicit reminiscences in “Saturdays” call back to earlier, more innocent days where the future seemed much more exciting. It’s appropriate, then, that all the music videos that the group posted on YouTube feature elements of retrofuturism, a style that is meant to evoke ideas of “where we thought we were headed” – tube televisions showing the edge of the galaxy, vector graphics of satellites and lunar colonies, scarily pristine communities warped along the inside of a sphere surrounding a star, and numerous shots of rockets and astronauts – but then “you fall into the blue, and it’s gone,” as the title track goes. One way or another, the future we wanted swept away, and Mercer is sure to make you miss it. It’s a very impressive theme, one of those kinds that rewards you if you listen closely. And when the music itself is so enthralling, who wouldn’t want to listen closely?

Admittedly, the album feels a bit weak in “Invisible Exit” and “Saturdays” – in the first, the lack of elements other than guitar and vocals make it seem empty or incomplete; in the second, rather than feel like a lullaby like the rest, it feels like an annoying alarm clock. They certainly mesh well with the overarching theme of “a future that never was,” but that doesn’t exactly make them pleasant to listen to, especially on repeat. If anything, “Invisible Exit” sounds better as a Shins song. Fortunately, they both manage to bring it home in the latter half and leave a satisfying taste. The rest of the album, however, is exceptional. Despite those two hiccups, 

 is a strong contender for one of the best albums this year. It may be a while before we get another entry into Broken Bells’ discography, but if the wait for this one was worth it, then surely the next one will be worth it too.Whenever I listen to a Broken Bells album, I like to think: “Which ones?” There are hundreds of millions of bells in this world, so who broke which ones, and why? For 

, I think it was a clock tower’s bell; after all, with all this insecurity and disillusionment, how is one supposed to greet the morning with a smile? 

 shatters the wedding bells; after all, how is love a happy thing when both halves are breaking down? Finally, with 

, the death knells are cracked and split; what kind of funeral mourns something that never was? And just like that, Broken Bells resurfaces yet again as a strange, yet incredibly special, existence.

"INTO THE BLUE" is a mesmerizing faux-nostalgia trip

Tears for Fears has always had a close relationship with mental anguish. Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith adopted the symbol of the “Big Chair” for their second album, a reference to the U.K. miniseries 

 about a woman undergoing psychotherapy. The duo evolved beyond the themes of anguish and mental illness for the following years, seemingly coming to a quiet stop with 2004’s 

, not only have Orzabal and Smith made a stunning comeback, it’s also never felt closer to the Big Chair.

 is, impressively, both a product of its time and a product of its legacy. The duo’s musical touch has plainly evolved since their last work together, and it feels like most of the songs fit right in among any other radio tune. However, these new tracks still manage to feel like they could have been included in 

. Orzabal and Smith return to their roots in synthesizer-heavy tracks, while still incorporating classical instruments. Fans of old Tears for Fears may find the use of synthesizers somewhat disappointing; they don’t take as much of a forward stance as in previous albums, often serving just to accompany physical guitar riffs and piano flourishes. Indeed, some songs like “Break The Man” feel very basic and indistinguishable from the wider pool of music today. There is still much to enjoy here, though, as those same synthesizers are implemented in a novel and more somber way compared to previous works. 

 offers a novel, yet still recognizable face to the band.

The songs have also evolved emotionally while still staying rooted in the classic themes of Tears for Fears’ first two albums: the “hurting” from childhood has been left behind, and Orzabal and Smith now face the “hurting” which plagues adult life. The album deals largely with dementia, the loss of a loved one to the disease, and the guilt associated with witnessing it. Songs like “The Tipping Point,” “My Demons,” “Please Be Happy,” and “Stay” deal directly with Orzabal’s own struggles with his late wife’s mental deterioration. As such, the album is quite the tearjerker; “Please Be Happy” is a heartrending funeral song, and an introspective and self-critical feeling fills the remaining tracks.

The high point of the album arrives about halfway through, with the drastic swing from the high-energy, dance-floor tune “My Demons” to the much more somber and reserved tracks “Rivers of Mercy” and “Please Be Happy.” It evokes the feeling of wildly smashing a mirror, only to stare emptily at the millions of damned reflections the shards create. These three songs feel like the heart of the album, the 

. The very name of the group is rooted in “primal therapy,” wherein trauma and strong emotions are directly and violently confronted. In confronting Orzabal’s anguish dealing with his wife’s crumbling mental state, the stage name has never been more prominent. Going over the tipping point, ten new songs are born; with the ten new songs, ten old fears are brought to light; for the ten old fears, ten fresh tears are shed.

 may not be quite as strong as the legacy-defining 

, but it is definitely a very special album that can stand tall and proud amongst its predecessors. This may be the end of their careers, one last reminder that “life is crazy, then it all turns to dust,” that even adults have it rough, or it could be the start to a whole new journey into the future, to “please explain The Hurting.” In any case, it is nice to hear from Orzabal and Smith once more.

On "The Tipping Point", Tears For Fears reminds us that even pain can beget grace

 notes that the songs in his newest release were “taken in a direction that resonates with where my head is at currently.” The content of each track makes this clear, evoking an image of the inside of someone’s skull and retreating further into the depths of their mind with each verse. 

opens with “Autumn is Your Last Chance,” a cover of Robyn Hitchcock’s song of the same name, which realizes the disappearance of a beloved person at the break of dawn. It is followed by “The Unanswered Why” mourning that person. “The Unanswered Why” is a standout track, louder and more energetic than the rest, but somehow still sounds like a rainy-day song or like the woes of a wandering, listless daydreamer. The daydream aesthetic continues in “Inner-National,” describing the “alternate lands” in the album’s title rather explicitly as a kingdom of the mind to retreat into. The final track, “An Apparition (without Event)” takes the concept to its natural conclusion, describing the passage of time without notice or care. Each song starts out quiet, soon building up to a climax that is at the same time powerful and whimsical, like a chaotic, wandering mind that gets more and more active before stopping and snapping back to reality.

The instrumentation of the album matches its thematic content very well: at the forefront are droning, otherworldly synthesizers. Doyle’s voice has a slight echo or tinny filter at almost all times; percussion is soft, and all other instruments have an unsettling minor quality. The music sounds ‘hazy,’ though much less so than previous works; Doyle would previously lean heavily on synthesizers to create moody, atmospheric pieces, but now allows other parts to shine in their own right. Ironically, this more grounded approach works better for the dreamlike themes in each song’s lyrics. Dreams and mindscapes are not formless, foggy wastes, but are just a bit weird and personal, after all. Still, the album is one of those kinds where it’s easy to fall asleep to it. Although, that would require the volume to be turned down a bit. The synths tend to be piercing and overwhelm the other layers, particularly in “Autumn is Your Last Chance,” and become a bit distracting as a result. The synths are toned down in the following tracks leaving them pleasant if somewhat unsettling. In all, the tracks here still leave behind a want for more, like there was a story being told with a beginning and an end but no middle. If this is the direction that Doyle wants to take with his next album as mentioned in the same Bandcamp page, then it will undoubtedly be an album to look forward to.

William Doyle’s "Alternate Lands" EP is a Languid, Lonely, Beautiful Dream

Caravan has come a long way since their debut 1968 self-titled album. The journey has led to their newest album, the first containing original material in several years, although it’s not a particularly exciting road stop. 

displays incredible instrumentation and melodical prowess indicative of a long-time band that never really lost its touch despite multiple lineup changes, but at the same time is ultimately dulled by distracting, willowy vocal work.

Each song follows a similar pattern: it begins with a catchy hook that gets one excited for the song, but then Pye Hastings begins to sing in a voice that sounds like he’s trying to hold back from waking up his parents at midnight. The song continues, occasionally breaking out into masterful solos or moving thematic shifts, but the vocals just refuse to fit in. Hastings’ voice is neither bad nor amateurish; in songs like “Spare a Thought,” “There is You,” and a few moments in “Every Precious Little Thing” where the instruments aren’t too energetic, the whispery, lulling voice fits perfectly. However, in every other part of the album, the instruments are too bright and commanding to match. The one exception is “Ready or Not,” wherein Hastings breaks out into a confident and clear voice that he should have used for the whole album.

Nagging vocal mismatch aside, the instrumental work in the album is top-notch. The past five decades have not worn down the core musical ability of Caravan. Longtime members Hastings, Geoffrey Richardson, and Jan Schelhaas create incredible, memorable melodies in every song on the album. Richardson and Schelhaas particularly carry the effort, weaving viola, violin, flute, and keyboard melodies into the groundwork laid by the other members. Drummer Mark Walker and bassist Lee Pomeroy, despite being more recent additions to the band, are just as adept as their seniors.

 feels like a set of songs for grand travels with friends and family. It’s clear that the band members are having fun with every song, and it’s easy to imagine racing through grassy, flowered plains in “Down from London,” “Every Precious Little Thing,” and “I’ll Reach out for You.” The album ends with “Luna’s Tuna,” a purely instrumental track that feels like a nighttime road trip slowly winding down to prepare to start anew the next day. It’s full of dreams, woes, worries, and other wholly personal emotions held within the mind of the subject as they travel through hard times. It is simply a tragedy, then, that dusty vocals make the experience a bit boring. It is clear that singing softly just doesn’t work anymore for Hastings unless the surrounding soundscape is equally soft. Had he consistently sung as strongly as in “Ready or Not,” this album could have been something truly wonderful.

Caravan cuts an unfortunately flawed gem with "It’s None of Your Business"

Schäffer the Darklord, MC Frontalot, Mega Ran, and MC Lars)


Walking into the small, tavern-like venue, the first person right there is Andrew Robert Nielsen, stage name MC Lars, manning the merch bar and having animated conversations with everyone who passes by. The show hasn’t even begun, but already it feels like one big house party. At the far end of the room a small stage contains a drum kit, some audio equipment, and a curtain splaying out the tour poster depicting the Four-Eyed Horsemen of the Hip-hocalypse.

First onstage is Raheem Jarbo, also known as Mega Ran and playing the part of the Red Rider, preparing the crowd for a “war” against shyness, thanking them for coming all this way and crying out how good it is to be back on tour – as fast as his lips and the backing track can carry the words. He has no wicked sword, but instead pulls out a gatling gun arm and assumes the persona of Barrett Wallace from 

while leading into “Avalanche.” It’s a stark reminder that the genre of the night is “nerdcore” rap. From there, Jarbo serves as the hype man of the show, cracking jokes in between tracks to get the audience comfortable and directing them to shout out chorus refrains. This event isn’t just for the guys on stage: it’s for everyone on the floor to have a good time and nerd out unhesitatingly. Jarbo follows with several heartfelt anthems, leading the audience through a whirlwind of wistful, dreamy worlds. He also hints at a recurring trend of duets throughout the night by inviting a co-showman, Schäffer the Darklord, to volley with him in “Fighters.”

Jarbo bids the crowd a good night, and Damian Hess (alias MC Frontalot, the Black Rider of the group, and he who coined the term “nerdcore”), trots out bearing not scales, but a bright red headlamp straight out of the cover of his 20th-anniversary album, 

 Additionally, live drummer Beard Magic (real name unknown and unannounced) joins him on the stage for a bit of live music accompaniment.While Jarbo had only himself and the crowd during his songs, Hess displays music videos and animatics to accompany the audio. Hess tells tales of strange “famines,” rather, a staunch lack of decency, self-control, grip on reality, and common sense; every song is a four-minute-long scoff. He humors the audience and reminds them that someday COVID-19 will not be so bad, inviting Jarbo back onstage to perform the pre-nostalgic post-calamity “Apocalypse Bards.” The solo act continues with classic tunes that sound more and more like the ramblings of Don Quixote, becoming so entrenched in the wild stories and settings of modern media that it leads one to remember the light of a cellphone at midnight with a grimace, and to be ever more glad to get out of the house for once.

Hess falls away, and the twilight hour begins. Schäffer the Darklord, pictured as the Pale Rider on the tour poster, arrives with a commanding air of pomp and self-assuredness, and everyone forgets for a while that his real name is Mark Shaffer. Smoothing his crimson jacket and snapping on a pair of nitrile gloves, he begins to spit out lyrics as though they were boiling up from the pits of his stomach, moving around the stage with immaculate precision and care in every twist of sinew. He does not bring the legions of Hades with him, but leads a 

 nonetheless, firmly stating that though he is as much of a nerd as the three around him, he is a 

 nerd. Doubly so, as many of his songs are nothing short of manic chatter, be they about baking a “Banana Cake,” riding in a self-totalling car, throwing everything to the wind in “Quit Your Day Job,” or just emptying the mind and cataloguing everything in his pockets. Hess comes back on stage to duel with Shaffer, but in a civil lawsuit rather than a rap battle, as they struggle to acquire the judge’s (audience’s) favor for their clients, Tom and Jerry.

Regaining his composure, Shaffer retreats, and the final performer for the night, Andrew “MC Lars” Nielsen, representing the White Rider of the apocalypse, takes the stage. True to both monikers of the apocalyptic bowman, Nielsen conquers the stage with a self-assuredness and raw energy that even Shaffer could not match while also quipping about former drug use and his current struggles with ADHD, excelling in spite of those “pestilences.” He opens with two songs from an upcoming album, “Fear of a Blockchain Planet” and “Five Seventy-Five,” demonstrating right off the bat that his nerdiness is of a more erudite fashion than his peers, despite the clearly punk backings and vocal tones. He raps about New England literature with “Finite Jest,” “Ahab,” and “Mr. Raven,” recapping stories that everyone forgot since they were last read in high school. Beyond nerdy passion, Nielsen also delivers heartfelt rap ballads about his heroic late grandmother in “Nana” and his own newborn, hopeful son in “Atlas.”

Nielsen takes a breather for only a moment before calling up his fellows back onstage, gathering all the Four-Eyed Horsemen for one final merry act, with Beard Magic on drums again. Taking turns at the helm, they rap in matching tracksuits to express grand gratitude in “Rabbit Out Of A Hat,” romantic availability in “Four-Eyed Heartthrob,” and personal responsibility (as well as one last hurrah for nerdiness) in “Who Watches The Watchmen?”

At the end of the night, the hall rang with laughter, chatter, and roaring applause for what felt like the best house party in the city. Even after the emotional wreckage caused by the pandemic and quarantine, the horsemen were ready and raring to ride out once more: further, nerdier, and bolder than ever before.


Andrew Carr