Pugs & Crows: UNCLE!
Phonometrograph

When someone shouts “Uncle!” during a game, wrestling match, or whatever, it usually signals surrender. There's nothing defeatist, however, about Pugs & Crows' latest full-length; if anything, the Vancouver-based outfit sounds more creatively vital than ever, the album overflowing with ideas and potential (that uncle reference, by the way, more likely relates to the recent passing of a band member's relative). Instrumentally, guitarist Cole Schmidt blends into the group, an audible presence certainly but not overly dominant; the impression established is that Pugs & Crows is an ensemble, not a vehicle for individual grandstanding. Still, it's clearly his band more than anyone else's: he wrote all the songs and co-produced the album with Chris Gestrin, who also edited, mixed, and mastered the recording and, credited with Moogs, electronics, and string arrangements, contributed to the release as a musician, too (the album also appears on Gestrin's own Phonometrograph imprint).

UNCLE! augments the core group with a generous number of guests: joining Pugs & Crows' Schmidt, Meredith Bates (violin, viola), Cat Toren (piano, vibes), Russell Sholberg (bass), and Ben Brown (drums) are guitarist Tony Wilson, violinist Josh Zubot, violist John Kastelic, cellist Peggy Lee, drummer Mike Schmidt, and singer Debra-Jean Creelman. The key addition to the group's sound, however, is vocalist Marin Patenaude, whose clear, soulful voice is front and center throughout. In fact, her presence is so game-changing, Pugs & Crows is no longer the instrumental outfit captured on the earlier Fantastic Pictures and Everyone Knows Everyone releases but instead an art rock collective specializing in ambitious vocal-based songs. A moment or two here reminds me of albums by The Golden Palominos featuring Syd Straw on vocals (e.g., 1986's Blast of Silence), but for the most part Pugs & Crows sounds like no other band than itself.

Following a mellow, one-minute scene-setter, the album proper begins with muscular material better emblematic of its tone and style, the slippery “Not My Circus Not My Monkeys.” With Patenaude emoting dramatically, the intricate construction threads soaring lead and background vocals in amongst a mercurial tapestry of off-kilter drums, strings, piano, and guitar. Enigmatic lyrics add to the tune's captivating effect, its arrangement unpredictable and the band's fluid execution of the at-times aggressive material poised, and Bates's playing rises above the fray, her strings imprinting the material with strong prog flavour. As punchy as the piece is, not everything on the album's as aggressive, as illustrated by the subsequent “Dear Downer” where the band's softer side is highlighted. A swaying, delicately textured backdrop proves ideal for a softer vocal delivery by Patenaude, even if it doesn't take long for the song to swell dynamically as it builds into a symphonic, strings-heavy fever dream. Even softer is “Wind Up Flying Away,” which slows the tempo to a crawl and dims the lights for an atmospheric, piano-sprinkled exercise in cryptic country-noir balladry. Wonky by comparison is the weird waltz twist that occurs halfway through the otherwise well-behaved “In the Dollhouse,” while sensitively wrought fare such as “Dreamt” shows that quiet material beautifully rendered can speak more powerfully than the heaviest throwdown.

November 2018