Let’s get one thing out of the way: Adrian Orange isn’t female. He’s resolutely male. Why the 21-year-old who used to go by the handle Thanksgiving decided to call his newest project Adrian Orange & Her Band is anyone’s guess. I would point to the mutability of gender in the contemporary world, note that perhaps this is a statement on the power of tiny pronouns to create false impressions, or even expound upon the possibility that “Her Band” is the name of Orange’s 17-member backing band, making Adrian Orange & Her Band a technically correct appellation. I could create an entire essay exploring these themes, but the truth is that they have little to do with the groundbreaking album that Adrian Orange & Her Band have produced.
Adrian Orange, who began releasing albums in his mid-teens, recently made the jump to the mighty K Records, where he was aided in the studio by none other than Calvin Johnson, the label’s legendary head honcho, and visionary K alum Phil Elverum. The duo appear not only as co-producers but also serve as part of Orange’s enormous band. And considering how often the words “lo-fi” are applied to the work of Orange, Johnson, and Elverum, the music that resulted from their collaboration is surprisingly, delightfully, full and richly textured.
It might seem unwise for Adrian Orange, a guy with an unapologetically rough voice reminiscent of a certain Mr. Johnson, to highlight his vocal shortcomings by layering them over precise, complex musical arrangements. Sure enough, upon initial listen, the juxtaposition of Orange’s voice with the ensemble’s tight, skillful big band-, ska-, and jazz-influenced instrumentation can be jarring. Ultimately, though, it becomes clear that form serves function, as palpable imperfections provide a physical manifestation of the album’s alternately idyllic, desperate, and redemptive lyrics. Orange’s voice could be anyone’s, and it is this fallible, human element that shatters the otherwise flawless surface of the songs, making each more compelling.
Adrian Orange & Her Band is something of a patchwork, alternating between complementary genres, moods, and themes tied together by long, sublime funk and jazz-influenced instrumentals. Most songs reference love, as in the faded romance of Latin-flavored “Interdependance Dance,” which laments, “Once upon a time you hurt my feelings/ And I hurt yours too, but we don’t talk about it/ No, we talk about everyday shit/ Everyday lived-in thoughts.” Spiritual love surfaces almost as often as the romantic kind. “A Flower Is Mine” sounds like a panicked prayer, with moments of discordant saxophone echoing the urgency in Orange’s straining, cracking voice as he sings, heavenward, “Your love like and sun would make me grow.” A makeshift funk-gospel choir materializes for the chorus and also makes appearances on the cleverly, biblically titled “Give to Love What’s Love’s” and the intentionally half-hearted call to rebellion that is “Unconvincing Serenade.” Orange even throws in a few quiet, meditative numbers, “Fire Dream” with its muted orchestrals and “Keep Your Money,” the album’s refreshingly spare final track.
At this moment in music, when notoriously “poor singers” like Bob Dylan and Tom Waits wouldn’t stand a chance of making it as newcomers and audio editing software can make anyone sound like Christina Aguilera, it seems especially daring to situate untrained, textured, unmistakably imperfect vocals among lush sounds of brass, winds, organ, and percussion. Adrian Orange’s is a real voice, a voice that puts us in contact with our own everyday struggles, loves, and yearnings. Adrian Orange & Her Band is a small, but significant, step away from musical standardization and toward the preservation of personality, of individualism, in pop.