Dark Night of The Soul, the daring, star-spangled collaboration of Mark Linkous (aka Sparklehorse), Brian Burton (aka Danger Mouse) and David Lynch (aka the multiple-award-winning director/musician/artist with the cult following to prove it) succeeds. It succeeds in maintaining balance under the weight of myriad guest artists; in showcasing those artists in a way that complements each individual’s style; and in creating an album that more closely resembles a collection of singles, each song resplendent in its own right, and each song unrelated, sometimes jarringly so, to the songs on either side of it.
Speaking grandly, Linkous and Burton have succeeded in putting together one of the most consistently engaging and listenable collaborations of this scale in a very long time, with none of the bigger name collaborators outshining the smaller ones—to the contrary, it’s the lesser-known artists that turn out the best songs on the album—and a fairly consistent standard of high quality and catchiness between tracks, despite the jumps in style. Both the consistency in quality and the diversity in styles are largely due to the distinctive production styles of both Burton and Linkous. In two aspects however, the album lacks noticeably. The first of these is that in light of the stark differences between mood, tempo, instrumental style, and even volume, qualities which simultaneously lend the album its varied allure also give birth to grating transitions which discourage continuous listening.
For instance, the first song on the album, “Revenge” is a fairly shiftless, slippery song, built of low, chorused vocals from Wayne Coyne, slow tempo instrumentation of the standard bass-guitar-drum-piano variety, with a fine dusting of shoegaze hums and drones thrown in for ornamentation. Neither rising nor falling in tempo, volume or structure, the song putters along, lyrically poignant if you take the time to listen, but ultimately lackluster. As such an understated opening track, it invites inattention, at least on first listen, and unless paying rapt attention, the next few songs will flit by while, as encouraged by the unspectacular “Revenge,” your attention is diverted to that hangnail that’s been bugging you for days. That is, until you make your way to the terrible two-some of “Angel’s Heart,” performed by none other than Black Francis, frontman of the Pixies, and “Pain,” performed by even bigger legend, Iggy Pop. Each features the respective punk icons, doing what they’ve always done so well: trashing and yelling. And however brilliant either artist may be within their own spheres of creation, they don’t fit in on the album. In fact, the juxtaposition between the feel of an Iggy Pop song, complete with sloppy, angry thrashing of a too-loud guitar, and the vibe of the dreamy, shoegazing tracks that most of the rest of the album conforms to is, in a nutshell, the only real intrinsic problem in the album’s make up.
Dark Night of The Soul’s second failure however, has less to do with the album’s quality than it does its time of release is in its function as a memoriam, capstone and postscript to Linkous, his illustrious musical career, and his body of work created under the moniker Sparklehorse, in light of his suicide on March 6th of this year. The same goes for Vic Chesnutt, who died just three months earlier, on Christmas of 2009. As the last piece of music to ever bear Linkous’ pseudonym, it just doesn’t seem to hold up, if only because you hear so little of him. Considering his behind-the-scenes role as producer, makes sense, but is still disappointing.
All grievances aside however, Dark Night of The Soul is an enjoyable album in every sense of the word. It has the eerie, sing-song melodies and lyricism of a Sparklehorse song, but with the clear, chorused, and more produced feel of a Danger Mouse track, resulting in a wistful kind of electronic folk. Take for instance “Jaykub”, the third song on the album, featuring Jason Lytle, singer/songwriter of Granddaddy. Lytle’s melancholy sing-song voice, supported by breathy angelic choruses, complete with a slightly distorted echo, and crescendos of piano chords, this song about a man’s early morning dream comes to life, evoking genuine pity for poor Jaykub, as well as raising questions about just who the song is really about. “Up on the podium you’re famous and you’re strong / Then the alarm goes off and you’re a sad man in a song.”
“Daddy’s Gone,” the only song featuring Mark Linkous on vocal duty, shares a similar vibe, but achieves the same effect on a larger scale. “The Man Who Played God” also treads close to “Daddy’s Gone” and “Jaykub,” complete with supporting choruses and the whole electronic outfit of bells n’ whistles, but operates at a much lower energy level, sounding distinctly more folksy, with less crisp recording, and the obligatory steak and potatoes lyrics: “1-2-3, you can be, man who played god”
Other highlights include “Insane Lullaby” with James Mercer, “Just War” with Gruff Rhys of Super Furry Animals, “Little Girl” with Julian Casablancas of the Strokes and “Everytime I’m With You” with Jason Lytle. All still walk a meandering, dreamy path, but with more production grandeur and electronica elements than the aforementioned songs.
Altogether the album is a collection of expertly produced singles by one of the most talented lineups of artists I’ve had the pleasure of listening to, and if you listen closely, jagged song transitions and ill-placed Iggy Pop aside, I can guarantee your eventual obsession with at least one of these tracks.
Track List:
1. Revenge (ft. The Flaming Lips)
2. Just War (ft. Gruff Rhys)
3. Jaykub (ft. Jason Lytle)
4. Little Girl (ft. Julian Casablancas)
5. Angel's Harp (ft. Black Francis)
6. Pain (ft. Iggy Pop)
7. Star Eyes (I Can't Catch It) (ft. David Lynch)
8. Everytime I'm with You (ft. Jason Lytle)
9. Insane Lullaby (ft. James Mercer)
10. Daddy's Gone (ft. Nina Persson)
11. The Man Who Played God (ft. Suzanne Vega)
12. Grim Augury (ft. Vic Chesnutt)
13. Dark Night of the Soul (ft. David Lynch)
