If this whole “extended hiatus” ends up being permanent for Field Music, it’s more than likely the group will carry the reputation of being one of those “almost” bands. As in, “you’ve almost got what could be considered and incredible record, but you’re not quite there yet.” While 2005’s self-titled effort was a bit too slow and samey in parts, last year’s follow-up, Tones of Town, was too cluttered and worked-up for its own good. Town was an improvement (with some intensely enjoyable songs, natch), but one also got the feeling that there were too many half-formed good ideas present and not enough fully-worked-out great ideas successfully hatched.
And then they took a break and are doing the requisite side-project thing now. Honestly, the one thing that could really help Field Music is a side project or two before reforming again; as the band themselves said in a BBC interview in June last year, “It’s time to go and do some real work.” So here we have bandleader David Brewis’ entry in the Field-Music-Field-Recordings competition under the nomenclature School of Language, Sea From Shore.
Alas, it’s another “almost” record in the band’s (collective’s?) discography, but it also confirms sneaking suspicions that the parts of Field Music might be greater than the sum: whereas Tones of Town played its Andy (not Alan) Partridge affectations close to the vest, Sea From Shore is much more contradictory. Sprawling and concise, maddening and enjoyable, exuberant and downcast -- is Brewis losing his mind? Not exactly; he’s an incredibly talented songwriter who, in the process of trying out new ideas in his new School house setting, has stumbled upon some of the best, and worst, songs that have been associated (loosely or otherwise) with Field Music’s name.
You don’t have to dig to discover the duds on Shore; just put the record on and press play, drop the needle, or whatever. The two “Rockist” tracks that open the record feature open-mouthed “oh”s and “ah”s as a background sound -- it doesn’t work. It’s a shame, too, since the melody Brewis has constructed in front of these onomatopoeic oversights is as pleasantly, melodically serpentine as it gets. “Keep Your Water,” a trudging, feet-dragging ballad stuck in the middle of the record, comes off as less of a loving imploration and more of a request not to take a bathroom break while the five-and-a-half minute track finishes itself off.
Thankfully, the sheer strength of the record’s highlights rescues Shore from being a fans-only curio. “Poor Boy,” replete with fuzzed-out drums and loose guitar work (a departure, for sure, from the not-so-secret XTC obsession Field Music often harbors), sounds positively sexy and pissed-off, as Brewis unapologetically coos, “I’m only doing what you told me to do.” The spry “Marine Life” makes for a nice pick-me-up after the dreadful “Water”; “Ships” lilts along dreamily like the nautical vehicles that share their name with the song’s title before crashing down in stop-start instrumental breaks.
The strongest track, however, is the propulsive “This Is No Fun.” The track begins with dreamy Fridmann-esque production, psychedelic stretched-out-to-infinity guitar notes and all, until the party’s crashed by the sonic equivalent of being both seasick and heartsick; Brewis’ voice lurches achingly, “I know we have to soldier on/ But this is no fun,” as the instrumentation sways back and forth. It’s easily an album highlight, and it’s more interesting than anything Field Music has recorded in their brief career so far. Sea From Shore may be hit or miss, but the hits pack a punch; let’s hope Brewis comes back from his School having learned a bit more about what to do when he’s back in the Field again.