“The third time’s the charm.”
Is it?
Strangeness and charm? “A drug for angels?”
Yes, charm, but only a bit of strangeness; I’ll get to that. To charm means “to delight” or “to enchant.” When we say “the third time’s the charm,” does this imply that the first and second times were lacking? Often, perhaps, but not this time. If you’ll indulge me for a moment, allowing that every time so far has been “the charm,” then harken, friends…
The third album from The Bardic Depths, What We Really Like in Stories (release date March 7th, 2024) is a charm that brings a most welcome enchantment to what many of us are experiencing as dark times. With fewer “guests” than before, the chemistry between the four band members (Dave Bandana, Gareth Cole, Peter Jones, and Tim Gehrt) and their lyricist (Bradley Birzer) is even more palpable here than it was on Promises of Hope. Every one of the four group members shines here, but not by trying to outdo what they have done before. Rather, they shine (no surprise) by passionately devoting their artistry to bringing life and breath to Birzer’s concept, which is a set of songs paying tribute to several great storytellers (Tolkien and Lewis, Ray Bradbury, Alan Moore, Willa Cather, Robert E. Howard, and Walter M. Miller).
And here is the strangeness: Unlike the first two TBD albums, despite the title’s direct reference to stories, there really are no stories here! No overall story arc, and nothing will strike the listener as a narrative in any of the songs! Well, not directly, anyway. Of course there are references to stories, hints of narratives we know, allusions to what the featured authors have written. But the point this time is not to tell or embody the stories. Rather than being story or stories, the album is about storytellers. So as my students have been saying in recent years, it’s “meta.” The point is to focus on the storytellers, to bring their lives to our awareness, to sing a trajectory for each, that so many of us have already followed before. This song cycle often beautifully evokes a sort of atmosphere that pervades a work or works of an author, and that readers will find at least somewhat familiar. It is like being drawn into aural spaces that give honor to the authors by being a place where we can dwell with them (which is not to be confused with “being reminded” of them).
The phenomenon I have in mind is well understood by Rob Birnholz, who created an amazing video for the album’s first single, “You’ve Written Poetry, My Boy,” which is for Ray Bradbury. Having read and enjoyed a great deal of Bradbury’s work over the years, I was already instantly taken with the song when I first heard it. Birnholz’s video, however, made the atmosphere of the song even more vivid and encompassing.
Another standout track for me, both lyrically and musically, is “Vendetta” (for Alan Moore). It especially caught my attention because I have lately returned to reading the work of French sociologist and theologian Jacques Ellul (1912-1994). Ellul is famous for his work on technology in modern societies. But in his original French, he actually emphasizes the broader concept of “la technique,” which is not the same as what English readers would think of as technology (and which is difficult to capture clearly in English translation). Technique is defined by Ellul as “the totality of methods rationally arrived at and having absolute efficiency (for a given stage of development) in every field of human activity” (The Technological Society, 1954). It names a system of rational means that increasingly dominates our lives in modern society, constituting a totalizing way of living where what is touted as freedom increasingly becomes a form of slavery. Technology, then, as Ellul understands it, is the discourse that accompanies the ubiquity of technique, which most often has the character of propaganda.
The disappointment and emptiness of “Vendetta” strikes me as precisely the disappointment and even despair that descends when it becomes clear that the promises of technology (in Ellul’s sense) are empty. What Ellul and Birzer have in common is that they find hope amid dystopian visions is Christian hope. But for Birzer, as was true for Promises of Hope, I think that it’s not a matter of pushing a particular theological agenda. It seems to me, rather, that what we can glimpse in What We Really Like in Stories is the possibility that stories, unlike technology and propaganda, might be a medium for hope.
I have singled out a couple of the songs, but on my third listen to the whole thing, I’m less inclined to name standouts and more inclined to rave about just how good this band is. Every instrumentalist’s contribution seems to fall into place perfectly. The solos are just the right mixture of virtuosity and restraint. Both lead and harmony vocals are consistently lovely. (And I’m so glad that Rick Krueger’s awesome church organ makes an appearance!) With Robin Armstrong’s production assistance on top of it all, the sound texture is, from beginning to end, irresistible! (See Kruekutt’s interview with TBD for the band’s perspective on how this all came about.)
Progarchy 