Anton Barbeau

Drug Free

(Pink Hedgehog)

Record Review

Anton Barbeau released Drug Free alongside his ‘60s psychedelic pop-influenced In the Village of the Apple Sun. Whereas the latter album entailed donning a rather specific musical costume (which happens to suit him unbelievably well), Drug Free allows for a broader range of style and expression, with more diverse – and perhaps more interesting – results. Though he retains the ‘60s aesthetic, his influences extend into various styles of the ‘70s; and his lyrics, despite their enduring esotericism, seem to reveal a depth that the other album’s almost childlike whimsy rarely permits.

The Lennonesque title track is a slightly paranoid, dream-like (hallucinatory?) account of improbable events, with even Anton himself wondering, “How much of this is real?” His vocals are arguably bolder than Lennon’s, boasting a comparative robustness, as well as a talent for howling octave jumps. “Leave It With Me, I’m Always Gentle” could be a tender hippie love ballad, until the words reveal it to be a darkly amusing tale which really gets off the ground when he recounts, “She placed a ring upon my finger/ and a shotgun in my stomach/ and she turned to me and said/ ‘Kiss the bride.’” Both musically and lyrically, the slow, trippy “Boncentration Bamps,” and especially “Alphalpha Bhang,” would have fit perfectly on Village, but here provide useful pacing between more intense tracks. In an almost gratuitous display of melodic prowess, he seamlessly weaves an acoustic “Little Drummer Boy” interlude into the gritty, glammy, electric “Magic Metal Apron” – and somehow makes it rock.

Perhaps easing his stylistic constraints on this album allowed Anton to shed at least one layer of obscurity; I wouldn’t dare presume to know the real Anton Barbeau, but there are moments on Drug Free when he seems to puncture the incoherence with fleeting displays of candor. He interrupts the trivial mood of the stomping “Disco Dress” to declare, “I’m worried ‘bout nothing less/ than when I die what’ll happen to me,” only to instantly reestablish levity by asking, “Will I be cold and hungry?/ Will a candy bar help me get through it?” In the melancholic “Oh the Malaise,” he admits, “I think I love you,” only to pull back with a noncommittal “Whose words are these?” Meanwhile, “Just Passing By” could very well be an earnest exploration of existential angst, although, true to form, this remains unclear. The oblique nature in which he addresses the issue, weaving a mysterious tale of distressed and confused characters, actually intensifies, rather than dilutes, its impact; incorporating the command to “cherish each moment while looking each other in the eye” within the dialogue raises the potentially platitudinous statement above the level of cliché. And is it just me or does he mumble, “I cry a lot when I’m alone” on the charming, folky “She Wears a Green Leaf”?

“In a Boat on The Sea” initially sounds like a Luna song inspired by Eno’s dreamy “On Some Faraway Beach,” until the rhythm section continues to chug along underneath increasingly distorted guitars, unleashing an extended Krautrock-style jam. At 11:37, it’s the one moment of true anti-pop indulgence, and it’s telling that Barbeau chose this moment to step out of the spotlight. Whereas other so-called ‘quirky’ songwriters might not be able to resist devoting any spare moment of excess to a self-congratulatory display of personal eccentricity, Barbeau – despite his talent for showmanship – has the humility to understand that the music is more important than the man. He may be offbeat, but he never loses sight of a good tune.