HeiBräu

Mew hails from Denmark — though you might never know, lead singer/guitarist Jonas Bjerre’s accent is nearly undetectable — and, though they are for the most part brushed off idly by the US, the band is fabulously popular in their home country. The platinum record mark is set significantly lower in Denmark, but Mew has still handily broken it several times over with each subsequent release. Their last two albums (Frengers and And The Glass-Handed Kites) debuted in Denmark at #2, and No More Stories… came in at #1. Clearly the Danes have a loyal affinity for their own music.

The full album title of Mew’s newest is No More Stories Are Told Today I’m Sorry They Washed Away No More Stories The World Is Grey I’m Tired Let’s Wash Away, and it’s a mouthful that seems to speak to the band’s extensive host of textures and approaches. While title motif isn’t expressed in full until it appears in “Hawaii Dream,” — its sighing reluctance the album’s short intermission — the trek there is quite the experience.

Perhaps the most magnetic quality about Mew is the youthful innocence they manage to encapsulate in nearly every track. Much like the best of Daft Punk’s opus Discovery and the better part of M83’s catalogue, No More Stories… treats the audience to a vivid re-imagining of what it’s like to be looking forward, thoughtless and frightened. It could be the cyclical refrains, Bjerre’s drifting tenor, the uncorrupt lyrics, the lilting keys, or any combination thereof, but the effect is unmistakable. It all makes for a blessedly enjoyable record, and where it doesn’t forge new pathways in tonality, it’s still busy wresting decades-old instrumentation from the jaws of obsolescence (see Animal Collective). Bo Madsen’s guitarwork, in particular, is notable, with its wiry and angular outcroppings jutting out against unplaceable drum rhythms. Bjerre’s voice also bears a similarity to prog-emo frontman Dave Elkins, of Mae; the two bands’ three-digit M names notwithstanding, the vocal resemblance is uncanny.

Mew’s “New Terrain.”

We are loathe to use the term “progressive,” because concerning bands like Mastodon and Mew, it comes with baggage that isn’t kind to the recipient. When one considers the other obvious Danish and Euro-eclectic influences and undertones, the term even seems unfair. Given the frenetic intros, dissident time signatures, and unique textures, however, it becomes all the more understandable, if not necessary. Dabbling in post-rock, Mew also excels at escalating dynamics (“Hawaii,” “Repeaterbeater”) and, as if to keep the listener from getting too comfortable, changes keys freely, apropos of nothing, often with an interjected synthesizer (“Introducing Palace Players”). There’s even 70s pop interjections (“Beach”), subdued bedside melodies (“Silas The Magic Car”), and frost-encrusted deathwish elegies (“Cartoons And Macramé Wounds”).

To its detriment, the pacing of the album is a little off. As with many albums, it’s top-heavy, its six best tracks placed on the first half, with the possible exception of “Tricks Of The Trade.” It’s not entirely fair to chalk this up to the band, as record execs often have the final say regarding track order. Moreover, the rest of the album is relatively strong, so it isn’t entirely off-setting. It was refreshing, however, to see French popsters Phoenix save “Girlfriend” and “Armistice” for later on Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix.

If they truly are The World’s Only Indie Stadium Band, their title is only reinforced here. We can’t celebrate it for its absolute consistency; And The Glass-Handed Kites likely remains the superior album. However, the extent of the record is, like so much of the music out of The Frozen North: expansive, beautiful, and imminently listenable. No More Stories… isn’t to be missed.

- JB