From the very first strains of ambient, distant guitars, followed by the sweetly unexpected entrance of a string quartet, volcano and heart will enthrall you. The alluring debut album by The Coral Sea might seem simple, but is not so easily defined-- one of its many beautiful contradictions for you to explore, such as the prominent inclusion of a string quartet on a "rock" record, its carefree thoughtfulness, its graceful power, its 'tragical mirth, hot ice and wondrous strange snow,' and my invoking Shakespeare hopefully without people groaning.
The Coral Sea was born Rey, named so for its frontman and founder Rey Villalobos. Having grown up a classically trained pianist, Villalobos turned to drums, then guitar, then evidently realized he could do just about anything. After releasing an initial CD on which he played all the parts, he put together a band that built a name for itself that was synonymous with "hypnotic" and an avid following around Central California. A three-song EP later and some fine-tuning of the band roster, Villalobos along with guitarist Duncan Wright, bassist James Garza and drummer Matthew Talmage re-christened themselves The Coral Sea.
Originally slated for release at the end of 2004, the highly anticipated new record has been worth the wait. The music is exceptionally seamless; each instrument fits with and supports one another so that none feel like they are grandstanding. On the other hand the guitar at times is so rich that it seems to have a voice and life of its own, its counterpoint layers answering and expounding on Villalobos' musings. Conversely, Rey's vocals often have an instrumental quality; repeating key phrases are poetic brushstrokes in some sonic painting. Lyrics do not unfold in a linear way, but in splashes-- intimate glimpses of a moment where everything is sensual and alive. The stars. Pain. A face. Eyes, tears, breath and the sun. There is longing and being longed for, being played and being saved. Villalobos' has a peerless tone, a mellifluous tenor voice that should belong to one of Tolkien's ancient elves. Watching the Coral Sea live it befits Rey, who is pretty ageless himself. The musicianship and arrangement is solid throughout, the perfect amount of ethereal noise for backdrop in just the right spots, drums and bass thundering here, and the amazingly-well orchestrated quartet returning there. Villalobos' ivy lines coil throughout, take root, and literally haunt us. "Feels like it's all with you…" as he intones in "Ancient Modern People."
The band released the CD themselves and co-produced along with the renown Tom Flowers of Orange Whip Studios in Santa Barbara. The packaging is gorgeous, so it looks-- as well as sounds-- like it'd be at home on the shelves at SubPop, between Iron & Wine and The Shins (if they still went by Rey). The band also has a slightly vintage tone, stirring echoes of Bowie, Pink Floyd and The Beatles. Though the early comparisons Rey earned to Radiohead and Coldplay are also deserved, my favorite would be the lesser-known Sigur Ros, who like The Coral Sea has the feel of Radiohead back when they cared; and of Coldplay when they didn't. "In This Moment's Time" might be the best song in the universe (along with Sigur Ros' "Track 8"). It must be laced with aural ecstacy, the way it moves between heartbreaking beauty and frenzied, explosive catharsis. "Descend" is a decidedly mellow closer, understated and poignant, with a taste of Nate Birkey on trumpet for the fade out, but what I like about it so much is that it seems to say "To Be Continued" and leaves you wanting more. In a good way.
It confounds me to write about something when it feels this special, to inadequately and dully report this song does "this" or the guitar sound like "that." Maybe it's not meant to be that way. The music is so cohesively shaped its pieces aren't made to be taken apart. Rey found his fit, and the unmistakable sound of the band shapes them into what they are. This one goes up to 11. |