Words by Sam Zimmerman
Adrianne Lenker writes the songs that have always been with us. As a member of Big Thief, she and drummer James Krivchenia, guitarist/backing vocalist Buck Meek, and bassist Max Oleartchik have very quickly become one of indie rock’s most beloved bands. This can be partially attributed to the pace the band has set for themselves. Their first record, 2016’s cleverly titled Masterpiece was quickly followed up by the stunning Capacity in 2017, and both Lenker and Meek released well-received solo albums in 2018. Their work ethic is reminiscent of bands and artists that dominated the genre in the 2000’s, (see Animal Collective, Deerhunter, Sufjan Stevens) with each release receiving more critical praise than the last.
Big Thief’s latest effort and debut on 4AD, the kaleidoscopic U.F.O.F., feels like a game changer: It’s a masterclass in folk songwriting that, at times, highlights the magnificent beauty in collaboration.
The title track is led by seemingly fingerpicked acoustic guitars and Lenker’s hushed multi-tracked vocals, but it is ultimately glued together through the rhythmic contributions of Krivchenia and Oleartchik. To some, this may translate as, “They played the song together as a band,” but it is much more than that. The musical chemistry shared among the members of Big Thief can sometimes feel otherworldly. The song’s bridge incorporates vocal samples that sound like radio transmissions being abducted and rapidly spit out by a flying saucer. The repetitive nature of these samples brings to mind Earl Sweatshirt’s 2018 Some Rap Songs. The vocal samples may serve different purposes, (Earl uses them spaciously, interjecting only in complete isolation; Big Thief gives brief glimpses of terror and hopefulness before pulling them out of the picture entirely), but they both capture a similar, unusual essence.
Though collaboration is key on U.F.O.F., some of the album’s finest moments occur when the other members rarely interject at all. On “Orange,” Lenker sings what might be her greatest lyrical accomplishment yet (“Orange is the color of my love/Fragile orange wind in the garden/Fragile means that I hear her flesh/Crying little rivers in her forearm”), while accompanying herself on guitar. It begs the question: why include a solo song if you’re already a solo artist? It helps to imagine the band acting as her audience – sitting at their respective instruments, listening to her sing, and providing some warmth and aid through their presence. This idea comes to life on the album’s closer “Magic Dealer,” which features Lenker singing a short tune to the bass-playing of Oleartchik while water sways in the background. Krivchenia interjects in between the first chorus and second verse by simply providing a quick snare roll and a few tom hits. It’s a nice, subtle reminder from the drummer of a band who completely understand the value in spacing out each member’s contributions: A reminder that he’s still with them, and that he’ll be ready when they need him.
“From” and “Terminal Paradise” both appeared on Lenker’s latest solo release abysskiss, and while the latter is a marvelous highlight on an album filled with highlights, the former lacks a certain intimacy that made the solo version so endearing. Additionally, “Century” showcases a questionable mixing choice where the vocal completely overpowers the instrumentation. It’s a great song and contains one of the album’s catchiest hooks (“We have the same power”), but the imbalance is somewhat jarring and sort of feels like a missed opportunity. Inversely, album opener “Contact,” along with mid-album cut “Open Desert,” are two of the best sounding indie folk cuts laid to tape this decade.
There are two incredibly beautiful, specific moments on U.F.O.F. that should be mentioned. During the bridge of the penultimate “Jenni,” the vocals and bass drop out to make way for an incredible one-note guitar-solo. Huge rock ‘n’ roll sounding drums pound away in the back and the guitar wails unapologetically. It’s amazing, truly, the colossal amount of intricate guitar playing by both Meek and Lenker on this record, and how the simplicity of this section is completely reliant on all of the creativity and hard-work leading up to it. The second moment appears on “Betsy,” as Lenker sings “Drive into New York with me/Big lights in the city” in an uncharacteristically haunting — yet equally delightful — baritone register. The close-mic lead vocal remains chilled throughout the entire song, but as her voice drops to the depths of the unknown on the word “city,” a certain defiance is revealed: Lenker doesn’t see or even care about limitations. She is majestic, charmingly strange, and one of the best songwriters making music today.
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