Dirty Three

Cinder

(Touch & Go)

Record Review by Adam McKibbin

Music played a crucial part in this writer’s college years, and there is a rosy glow over almost the entire bank of those music-linked memories.  A notable exception was an otherwise typical, blurry-eyed night with a best friend and a bottle of whatever was handy; our favorite pastime, on that particular evening, dampened by the “Repeat” button on another roommate’s stereo and the unfortunate fact that the song on the endless spin cycle was “Hotel California.”  Only that song, it seemed, could light a candle and show our industrious roomie the way to the end of his term paper.  Anything else would destroy the flow.

Enter (years too late) Cinder, an exquisitely crafted album seemingly custom-made for maintaining flows.  There is diversity within and between the songs, perhaps more than expected, but there is enough of a recurring theme or melodic motif that the album feels like one grand piece.  Although there are more tracks and shorter tracks, then, the band is still finding plenty of time to stretch and luxuriate.  Turned up loud, Cinder is often warm and all-enveloping; the 19 songs melding together like interwoven chapters of a book or film.  Turned a little softer, it can comfortably recede into the background, happy to serve as the score for brooding late nights (or whirlwind study sessions in front of a computer).

Dirty Three are an instrumental trio—violinist/multi-instrumentalist Warren Ellis, guitarist/organist Mick Turner, and drummer Jim White—who, like many instrumental groups, are sometimes criticized for mining and re-mining the same territory where chamber music meets indie avant-rock.  However recycled, the criticism is often fair, and that’s even the case with Cinder, which does wander off on a couple extra tangents or spend a few superfluous minutes here and there (“Rain On,” for instance).  Partially because of this, the album feels a little top-heavy, with the thrills tapering off some during the final third.  But it’s difficult to imagine any hard-nosed producer who could chase out those static moments without sacrificing some of the band’s spontaneity and charm.

There are a number of black sheep on Cinder, starting with the likeably abrasive electric guitar jam on “Doris” and reaching the most obvious departure point when straight-up vocals are introduced at the album’s center, courtesy of the reliably riveting Chan Marshall (Cat Power).  Otherwise, Cinder unfurls itself patiently—a lush record that both gives and solicits introspection.

Oh, and it sounds nothing like The Eagles.