Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros is fun but largely forgettable.
As the best songs and drugs generally do, the musical output of Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros — the hippie pop collective led by Alex Ebert and Jade Castrinos — takes listeners on a journey. Unfortunately, like with a tab of acid left in the sun too long, that trip isn’t always one necessarily worth taking.
The prolific group’s self-titled latest continues the trek that began on its first two albums, 2009’s excellent Up from Below and 2012’s Here.
A festive explosion of joy and sing-along anthems, Up from Below (best known for endlessly hummable single “Home”) feels like the beginning of a journey, the sonic equivalent of trundling along in a Volkswagen bus fueled by hash oil and good vibes. Aside from a few standouts (the pulsing “Man on Fire,” the strummy “I Don’t Wanna Pray”), Here plays as a far more subdued affair: the point in the trip where you’re coming down, looking up at the stars and blearily thinking about the existence of God. A little less fun, and a lot less robust.
Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros picks up where Here left off — the next morning, with the sun shining again. But with the exception of a few truly memorable ditties, most of ES&MZ descends into mid-tempo, under-produced sameness; it’s fun, sure, but even for die hards, it’s largely forgettable.
Like Here, Magnetic Zeros is strong out of the gate: The grand “Better Days” opens the record with an epic hippie war march (so more like a gentle shuffle), complete with a staccato snare drum, swelling horns, chimes, and a choral call and response. “Let’s Get High” keeps the energy high, bouncing along on the back of a cheery slide whistle and Ebert’s charming, nonsensical platitudes (a highlight: “We’re all Jesus in disguise!”).
But from there, the album devolves into a bit of a slog, with the songs (most of which clock in at about five minutes) blurring into a comforting but completely indistinguishable quilt of jangly electric guitars, rattling percussion and sunny “love each other” lyrics.
It doesn’t help that Ebert is starting to lean a little too heavily on his musical influences. “Two” is a Donovan knockoff that never rises above the level of background noise; “This Life” sounds like latter-days Beatles with Ebert trying (and just failing) to mimic beard-era McCartney; and “If I Were Free” takes a stab at dreamy psychedelia but ends up as a tuneless, nonmelodic mess.
There are certainly more memorable moments. “They Were Wrong” ticks along behind a groovy bass and surprisingly good Johnny Cash-isms (“Here son watch the dog eat dog”), while “Country Calling” is a nice slice of white-boy blues.
But for every well-crafted moment of tossed-off flower child charm, there’s an almost oppressive blanket of relentless sonic positivity. Ultimately unthreatening and likable, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros still commits the worst sin an acid trip can: In the end, it’s just boring.
