Dan Snaith's Manitoba project is back with a new name but his hypnotic music hasn't changed. Caribou, like Manitoba, is still heavy on electronic jam sessions, with peculiar swirls of sound and stoned instrumental wanderings leading you who-knows-where. The Milk of Human Kindness also has that faint whisp of ?60s bubblegum pop (see "Bees") and Stereolab-like drone present on Manitoba records like Up In Flames. Such reference points provide welcome toeholds in the midst of all the laptop anarchy, preventing the whole thing from drifting off into the ether. Snaith puts a few other twists on Milk, with mixed success. On the plus side, the sharp opener "Yeti" is a quick burst of fun, while "Lord Leopard" knocks up the beat a notch toward hip-hop territory. The lamentable "A Final Warning," however, falls off the deep end into an almost comedic dead-end. Still, Snaith continues to show off boundless creativity, and when he conjures the right mix of chaos and cohesion like he does on "Brahminy Kite," the result is a glorious noise all his own. ?Matthew Cooke
Caribou
The Milk of Human Kindness
[Leaf/Domino; 2005]
Rating: 8.5
When Dan Snaith's Manitoba released Up in Flames in early 2003 it felt like a debut. Bearing little resemblance to the cuddly IDM of 2001's Start Breaking My Heart, Up in Flames felt like the work of another mind, and logic dictated that the project should have a different name. The Gods of Music apparently agreed but were a little slow on the uptake; finally sensing the marked shifts in tone and focus they sent Handsome Dick Manitoba of the Dictators to smite the project. Papers were served, a trade infringement lawsuit was threatened, and Caribou was born.
Bummer that the record racks of the world are going to get more confusing, but in purely musical terms the name change isn't such a bad thing. The Milk of Human Kindness sounds once again like an album from a band without a past, a band ready to take risks and go where the music needs to go. The contrast between The Milk of Human Kindness and Up in Flames is certainly less pronounced than the jump from the debut, but the feel here-- clearer arrangements and better songs, both more expansive and comparatively sober-- is new to Snaith.
I should explain that when I say that Caribou sounds like a band without a past, I mean a past of their own. Certain historical strands from the last 35 years or so of rock are easy to discern. Where Up in Flames referenced spiraling psychedelia, this record is more controlled, carefully choosing its moments and arranging peaks for maximum impact. The most obvious addition to the sound is a strong dose of Krautrock, particularly the classic propulsion of Neu!
The opening riff of "Bees", for example, takes a handful of Booker T & the MGs' "Green Onions" and spreads them like flares along the Autobahn of "Hallo Gallo". That's only the bedrock rhythm, and as the song progresses Snaith indulges his fondness for dynamic builds and folds in a chorus of horns that lead to a booming drum crescendo. "A Final Warning" is another strong motorik beat and this time Snaith rides the efficient engine through the kandy-kolored dreamland of the Boredoms' Vision Creation Newsun, exploding from dark tunnels into a vast, yawning mother sky with a wailing "Ahhh!!!!"
The noisier tracks here are a lot of fun-- the spazzy "Brahminy Kite" is all cymbal crash and tom roll, its martial pulse and tinny organ contrasting with a repeating vocal refrain. The flipside of these drum-heavy tunes (which you know the band is aching to play live) is "Hello Hammerheads", an upfront and folksy vocal where Snaith aims for Simon and Garfunkel territory and winds up in the same area code, which is saying something considering how "just another instrument" his crooning can be. Tying the various strands together are a well-crafted series of minute-or-two interludes, which move from Lynchian melodrama ("Subotnick") to manipulated bits of warped baroque ("Drumheller").
Some of the "big" tracks remind me of the gothic reconfigurations of DJ Shadow, particularly the dramatic build-of-steam "Pelican Narrows", with its melancholy "Theme From the Incredible Hulk" piano theme and loose, splashy drumbeat, but also the gangly interlude "Lord Leopard". The Shadow feel is doubly interesting because, though Snaith is currently leading a full band when out on tour, complete with two drummers, he brings a record fan's approach to his music. He's digging into the past to find the best bits and combining the new ways, reinforcing the idea, suggested at on earlier Manitoba material, that his particular genius is curatorial rather than strictly inventive. However he does it, he's created another thrilling, excellent record.
-Mark Richardson, April 20, 2005
Review by John Bush
Dan Snaith's recordings as Manitoba exuded a flair for recycling the most enthusiastic of early-'90s indie rock within the context of a one-man production band. Slightly naive and only a passable songwriter, he nevertheless compensated with his gushing productions and the sort of breathless vocals that only a newcomer can imbue with such pleasure. After dealing with a slight setback (Handsome Dick Manitoba's baffling appropriation of the name, which led to Snaith's subsequent rebirth as Caribou), he proves on The Milk of Human Kindness that his compositional powers have grown during his five years on the scene. (The seven-minute "A Final Warning," with its smooth, ebb-and-flow glissandos, is easily his most accomplished production yet.) Unfortunately, although Snaith may sound novel expanding upon his indie forebears of ten years ago, when he begins conjuring the ghosts of Krautrock ("A Final Warning," "Bees") or trip-hop ("Lord Leopard"), as he does here, he's entering the company of talented producers who have ploughed the same ground (Stereolab and DJ Shadow, most obviously). The opener and first single, "Yeti," is one of the prime disappointments, a one-note rocker that attempts to strike the same chord as Snaith's previous classic "Hendrix With Ko" with nothing like the same results. Similar however, to what happened on Up in Flames (his final Manitoba record), dedicated listeners will find excellent material on the second half of the record. As Snaith straightforwardly hums his choruses on the minimalist folk of "Hello Hammerheads," or conjures Robert Wyatt with the eccentric, driving pop of "Brahminy Kite," he shows that he still has plenty of room to roam to be bothered messing around with second-rate imitations of long-dead styles.
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