The finale on Garden Ruin – the previous widely released Calexico LP – starts with a whisper and ends in an apocalyptic explosion of scrawling guitars. A clear product of turmoil, “All Systems Red” and the album it capped off sparked a lot of discussion among Calexico purists.
After In The Reins, the group’s fantastic collaboration with Iron and Wine, the Tuscon, Ariz., rockers tried something a little different. Joey Burns and John Convertino collaborated more in the studio with the rest of the band and toned down the Tex-Mex sound Calexico had previously used so proudly as its calling card.
Some critics and fans cried Judas, and although they dismissed an impressive album in its own right, they had a point. Calexico lost an integral piece of what set the band apart from all the other Americana-leaning indie rock acts.
Yet, Carried To Dust, Calexico’s latest album, once again finds the band at the top of its game. Taking the sprawl of Feast of Wire and underscoring the shadowy-pop of Garden Ruin with a few new twists and turns, Calexico finally has its desert masterpiece. But where Ruin hit on the frustration and despair plaguing the country, Dust settles into something far less confrontational – at least on the surface.
In many ways, the songs feel like a part of a greater American elegy, haunted by spiritual and physical casualties. Anger has begotten sorrow, and for much of Dust, Calexico is in mourning. The chilling album closer “Contention City” paints America as a ghost town slipping away into oblivion: a dead memory. An earlier track, “Man Made Lake,” foreshadows the inevitable emptiness left by the epilogue, placing the narrator on the brink of a city, “streets with no stir of life,” the houses “fully submerged.”
“I’m gonna walk these streets of cold concrete,” Burns sings, “Like I’m a ghost searching for its grave/ Then I’ll dwell by the edge of this man-made lake/ And descend to the city that holds no place for me.” If the song’s dead-serious acoustics and Ennio Morricone xylophones arm the listener for high noon, then the eerie swell of “Contention City” knocks the whole showdown scene over like a Hollywood façade. There’s no moment of reckoning, no cathartic release – just a disappearing act.
That, ladies and gentlemen, is what happens when a band treats a set of songs as an album, not a playlist. Fifteen tunes is a heavy load to bare – but Calexico makes each one count, allowing the songs to interact, curling around one another to weave an intricate tale of death, betrayal and, eventually, hope.
Spanish guitarist Jairo Zavala lends his talents to “Victor Jara’s Hands,” a song named for the Chilean musician/activist murdered during the U.S.-backed coup of 1973. Despite the ominous refrain of “Two Silver Trees” (“two worlds in needs”) and the repeated theme of deception, Calexico’s instrumental revelry points to better, brighter times.
Dust is certainly burdened with heavy ideas, but Calexico never gives in to all-out pessimism. Calexico still manages to have a little fun while plumbing the depths of the American psyche.
“Writer’s Minor Holiday” calls to mind the band’s more pop-oriented explorations on Ruin. The band has name-checked Stevie Nicks in the past (“Not Even Stevie Nicks” on Wire), so it’s not entirely surprising to catch the echoes of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours peppered into the harmonies of Dust.
Calexico’s influences are varied and difficult to predict – the band has covered Joy Division, Love, Arcade Fire and The Clash all with equal sincerity. As interesting as it was to hear some of these influences shine through on Ruin, there’s no denying how much of a joy it is to hear the band return to the homier, brassier incarnation of its former self – even if it is under fairly gloomy circumstances.
Burns and Convertino have carried over everything beautiful touched on in the last album with a fraction of the fury, applying all they’ve learned tactfully and sanding down the edges.
Their talented guests (Sam Beam of Iron and Wine fame, Pieta Brown, Tortoise’s Doug McCombs) quietly shift in and out of focus, leaving only their vocal and instrumental whispers to linger in Dust’s simultaneous eulogy and celebration: the death of America and the rebirth of Calexico.
zherrm@umd.edu
RATING: 4 1/2 out of 5 Stars
