Collin McCann knows how to open an album, and nothing makes this clearer than his solo debut as The Lord Dog Bird. As he weaves a gauzy fabric of clanking drums and languid guitar plucks, McCann quickly makes you realize you aren’t so much listening to a record as you are eavesdropping on the huge sonic world that he’s managed to cram into a four-track recorder.
“The Shedding Path” carries all the momentum and quiet triumph an opening track should, declaring, “You and I/ Cannot be tried/ We are one.” Driven by a music-box crank and ethereal orchestration, the song defines the album as one of the rare ones that gives you butterflies each time you begin to play it. “No Security” carries this tone, as McCann asks us to “Sing the song of ancient birds/ Coming out/ Forming words,” and continues to explore the record-wide themes of mortality and beauty.
Though stripped-down, the debut calls for a discerning ear to make out each fragile, echoing melody. As guitarist for Baltimore indie darlings Wilderness, McCann clearly uses his solo project as a chance to expand on the layered intros and sparkling arpeggios that have kept Wilderness fans eager, despite the band’s extended hiatus.
McCann is so good at making opening tracks, it seems, that he made an entire album of them. With most songs following the same formula — slow, layered introduction; loud, gritty vocals; pretty, experimental music break; layered fade out — dispersed by similarly-organized instrumental pieces, it becomes difficult to notice — unless you’re making effort — that you’ve moved to a different song. And not in the elegant, intentional sort of way.
On the few occasions when the music does vary, McCann’s vocals still barely deviate from the same note arrangement and octave range. He relentlessly uses fuzzy stereo vox and articulated shout-singing that, I hate to say it, ever-so-slightly resembles those of The Polyphonic Spree’s Tim Delaughter. McCann’s sophisticated instrumentation would benefit hugely from the occasional use of softer, quieter vocals — not just noisy-and-rough or not-at-all.
Out of the context of a cohesive album, any of the songs on The Lord Dog Bird will surely grab your attention (think mix tape); be sure not to overlook closer “The Gift of Song in the Lion’s Den.” But in the end, it is about the record, and McCann makes that familiar brand of lo-fi folk that conjures images of beards and sepia photographs. Though more energetic than Iron & Wine and more melodic than Jeff Mangum, McCann still fails to truly distinguish himself from his rustic introverted peers.
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