It took three days
to get through The Acts,
five albums, eleven discs.
And now I approach
Migrant, a collection
of prog-pop-rock
so delicious, so melodic,
so powerful, as to make
it one of my favorite
albums of the last decade.
Released initially in 2013,
interrupting The Acts in
progress, and then remixed
and resequenced and
expanded for it’s 10th
anniversary in 2023,
the only concept here
is to group together
an hour or so of great
songs. It is the only one
of their albums thus
far to jettison a conceptual
overarching theme, and
in many ways, it’s stronger
for it. Maybe, just maybe,
when the conceptual must
be contained in a single
four or five minute song,
there is a kind of focus
required to get the job
done without meandering.
As a writer, I’ve thought
for a long time that writing
a short story is way more
difficult than writing a novel,
even though accomplishing
a novel may seem more
ambitious and significant.
I think the same thing
might be true of the individual song
as opposed to a 10-song (or 69-song!)
concept album. And yet,
I wouldn’t trade The Acts,
necessarily, for five or six
Migrant-type albums. Maybe,
too, this album is special
because it’s the only one,
and the other concept albums
are special in that they exist,
somewhat miraculously. But
I challenge any red-blooded
melodic leaning rock fan to listen
to “Whisper” or “Bring You Down”
or “Shouting at the Rain” and
not fall in love with this band.
If you want a place to begin
with The Dear Hunter, Migrant
marks the spot.
While the plot and concept
of The Acts might not be altogether
easy to grasp, the band’s last full
studio album, the concept sequence
called Antimai, is comparatively
comprehensible.
More descriptive than narrative,
Antimai sets out to paint a picture
of a dystopian society (in the future,
the past, on Earth or another planet,
not entirely clear) that is so intensely
hierarchical as to have created
a world in which various classes
are physically separated by concentric
circles, or Rings, walled off from
each other in such a way to eliminate
passage from one circle to another.
Of course, all of the power is concentrated
in the center of these rings, in the tower,
where the uber privileged and powerful
ruthlessly rule with abject cruelty and disdain
for their underlings in the lower rings,
while each lower ring, it seems, bears
part of the responsibility for keeping the
classes lower than theirs in line. There’s
a song that represents each ring,
most of which are in the point of view
of a collective “we,” so the listener
comes to understand the perspective
and general life conditions of each
group, without introducing any main
characters or insinuating a narrative line.
It’s more complex than this, as Crescenzo
has established a kind of national
religion having to do with an entity
called “the Indigo Child,” has included
in the liner notes a series of footnotes
to help listeners with various vocabulary
he’s invented, and there’s a host of
other physical details that are worked
out in the song lyrics and in various
short films and more comics from
the brain of this renaissance guy, C.C.
Musically, this collection is tuneful,
complex, a rich palette of rock instruments,
horns, strings, mallets, and layered vocals,
sonically, maybe the best sounding TDH
record in the entire collection.
Thematically, it’s a bleak, dark record,
but it’s infused with energetic,
virtuosic performances, compelling
arrangements, infectious melodies,
and kick-ass grooves.
It’s a veritable dystopian dance party.
For The Dear Hunter-curious, I’d
say, first Migrant, or Migrant Returned,
followed up in short order by Anitmai.
You are so very welcome.
Notes on the vinyl editions: Migrant Returned, Equal Vision Records, 2023, red and pink splotch design on clear double vinyl. Antimai, Cave and Canary Goods, 2022, clear double vinyl.
FYI: I’m listening to almost everything in my vinyl collection, A to Z, and writing a long skinny poem-like-thing in response for each artist. As a poet and a student of poetry, I understand that these things look like poems, but they don’t really sound much like poetry, hence, I call them “poem-like-things.” I’ll admit that they’re just long, skinny essays that veer every now and then into the poetic.
michael jarmer 