So much of life, at some level, works in cycles. There’s the ones that are tangible and viewable, like seasons. Others may require a little more inspection to really root out. Say, cycles of poverty. Cycles of violence. Maybe the way history runs in cycles, even? And further yet, one could assume that even the unseen works in a similar way. Ever think hard about the possibilities of reincarnation? New York’s Bambara has definitely put a bit of thought into these things, and by extension have crafted a thoughtful and often haunting with their new album Birthmarks.
I caught on to Bambara based on a friend’s recommendation somewhere after the release of their previous album, Stray. That album (and later Shadow on Everything) won me over very quickly with the band’s scorching blend of post-punk and atmospheric Southern Gothic twang, bolstered by frontman Reid Bateh’s charismatic voice. Expecting much of the same, sinkng into Birthmarks did end up feeling like a bit of a shift. The outright Southern elements have stepped back a bit, as did the overall intensity. In their place, Bambara has added more of a trip-hop undercurrent and stepped up the atmospherics further (bolstered by co-production from post-rock icons Bark Psychosis’ Graham Sutton). And once again, the results won me over very quickly.
Birthmarks is positively palpable in its moody depictions of a series of vignettes driven by recurring characters and lyrical echoes. The band themselves don’t see Birthmarks as a concept album per se, but there’s plenty of storyline to unravel in the numerous appearances of Elena and the one-eyed man, a suitcase containing a knife and photographs, and aggravated copperheads. Lynchian in its non-linear noir feeling, the lyricism of Birthmarks is positively gripping from the motel rendevous of “Hiss” to the death that caps off “Loretta”. Every song has a tale to tell, wrapped in a haze of cinematic musical underpinning.
Of course, the concepts of the album wouldn’t hit so hard if the music Bambara has backed it with wasn’t so damned good. And, dear reader, it really is. After the gloomy noir of “Hiss”, Bambara launches ahead with the more punkish thrust of “Letters from Sing Sing”. “Face of Love”, meanwhile, stands as a particular favorite in the delirious haze of its chorus carried on the guest vocals of Midwife’s Madeline Johnston. “Holy Bones” feels positively creepy with William Brookshire’s bass pulse and sparse piano chords, while “Elena’s Dream” feels pulled from a band like Bohren & der Club of Gore in its dark, ethereal jazziness. Be it any of that, he twangy emptiness of “Smoke”, the plaintive vocals of “Because You Asked”, or anything else, any new trick Bambara throws at the listener just works perfectly.
In honesty, it did throw me at first how much of the band’s old twanginess has subsided since Stray, but I’m hard pressed to argue with the choices that fed into Birthmarks’ sound. Some parts of the album are so dense with mood that a listener could get lost in it, while a song like “Dive Shrine” introduces an electric pulse I’m not sure I’ve heard from the band yet. It’s a change for sure, but by the end of this album’s tight 36-minute runtime, you really feel for the numerous characters Bambara has presented, and all they’ve gone through in their disparate lives.
Broken lives. The recurrence of violence. The haunting presences of those lost. These things and more are given voice in the best way across Birthmarks, and once again Bambara has proven themselves one of the greatest bands tenuously connected to modern post-punk. Some of the trail dust may have settled since the band’s last album, but the violent heart of the American spirit still beats within, spinning a tale of lovers, obsession, murderers, and the way faith can underpin any of that. Birthmarks is an excellent, knotted set of stories to unravel, and don’t let a bit of darkness and seediness scare you off.
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