The Antlers, 'Familiars'

As the first bars of The Antlers‘s fifth LP chime into life, Familiars is definitely an apt name for an album which, at first listen, sounds all too similar to their previous offerings.

However, once immersed fully in the record’s environment it is clear this is definitely not a re-treading of old ground. This album’s sound is sparser, with fewer elements fighting for attention than 2011’s Burst Apart, and sounding all the richer for it. It’s like eavesdropping on the band’s rehearsal space rather than buying a ticket to the gig; there’s a sense of intimacy to the bareness. The Antlers have also embraced a horn section to rival The National’s, drawing on jazz influences and adding texture to what might otherwise be a stark sonic landscape.

Opener Palace ambles in over a delicate piano melody, with gentle brass detail, and it doesn’t take long before Peter Silberman‘s distinctive vocals take over as the song rises into an emotive finish. Doppelganger has a more spacey feel, with an intro evocative of winds blowing across a desolate landscape as a lonely military bugle plays. Hotel veers more on the side of easy listening; it’s warmer, but still with the same horn motif which runs throughout Familiars. The lyrics are incredibly profound (as if we would expect anything else): ‘And when I check out, it won’t matter how my name’s spelled / ‘cause when you pass through, you only keep what you can’t sell’.

Silberman has talked in interviews of wanting to express a more natural vocal style on this record, and on Intruders he is at his best, with his voice cracking and straining under the weight of emotion. Intruders takes the listener on a slow, captivating waltz, and is sonically similar to Burst Apart. Stand-out track Director is beautiful, especially The XX-sounding reverb-heavy guitar solo in the outro. On the verses of Revisited, Silberman’s voice sounds markedly different; he uses his voice as an instrument, here experimenting with lower ranges. Continuing with the sense of lamenting, longing, and looking back, he yelps: ‘Your fantasy’s a prison/ and you’re serving a sentence you can’t stop repeating’.

Read full review at Kemptation