Portland three-piece Menomena have recently been basking in the glow of some well-deserved critical and commercial success, with a widening fanbase for their sometimes esoteric jazz-infused rock. Yet even the most ardent of Menomena fans might be surprised to find that Your Anchor is officially the ninth album from their drummer, Danny Seim’s secretive side-project, Lackthereof. Only the third available for public consumption after last year’s My Haunted and 2004’s Christian the Christian, Lackthereof have reclined peacefully under the Menomena radar by releasing tapes to friends and playing only a handful of shows to promote the more widespread releases. It is with a pinch of scepticism then that what appears to be a crippling unambitious side-project will be approached. Thankfully, Seim’s songwriting dispels any cynicism from the off.
Album opener Chest Pass has a creeping, sleepy bassline movement that turns into a paroxysm of mid-tone guitar and frenetic drums. Seim’s hushed, rich vocals recalls what appears to be Lackthereof’s current influence: his good friends The National. In fact, Seim’s clearly not too worried about this comparison, going so far as to cover the highlight of the New York-based band’s latest LP, Fake Empire as Your Anchor’s closer. Given Menomena’s penchant for skewed time signatures and wibbly-wonky art rock, this album is a decidedly straight-up indie-rock affair, bringing in elements of 90’s slacker and 00’s small-scale orchestral dramatics. Perhaps the best point for comparison would be a Xiu Xiu by daylight, or a less schizophrenic eclectic Beck.
Whatever of compare-and-contrast, Your Anchor is an unostentatious success. Locked Upstairs laidback rumble is a sensitive multi-tracked masterpiece that ends in a hail of organ and electronics. Last November twists the sadcore of its influences to a more upbeat close, as if demons are being exorcised before your very ears. Your Anchor is such an intensely personal experience that at its most hushed it feels like a decommissioned diary or a confession from a close friend, and as Danny Seim’s spare time hobby, it has more than enough heavy hitting appeal to rival his dayjob’s output.
