The Decemberists' new album, The King Is Dead, is out today! I have been listening to it quite a lot since it started streaming on NPR. It is a very very nice, pleasant record-- it plays really well in the cafe, which I like, and it's a lot of breezy country fun-- it'll be a good record to play driving through the fields in the summer, which is an activity I value and enjoy.
But it's missing that something that has made me interested in The Decemberists over the years, lyrically-- it's missing the dark, violent side of their storytelling that makes their early albums so compelling. Because, really, what other indie rock outfit has so many songs about rape? If Hazards of Love was a bit too much of that side, unadulterated (although I will defend Hazards of Love; I think the harsh criticisms it received were not based in much that was legit), The King Is Dead, while providing a welcome relief, is still only half of what I like about the band-- good, fun songs that play well together and, especially, are excellent on their own, good for strumming around a campfire with you pals.
I enjoy a lot of the criticism they get for being kind of out-of-control and ridiculous and overly-theatrical. Which is exactly why I like them; I've always been kind of surprised that the cool kids like them in the first place.
All in all, it is a nice little record.
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