The National Trust, Dekkagar (Thrill Jockey) 9+
The National Trust is masterminded by Neil Rosario (ex-Dolomite). Originally intended to be a casual project, the band released a 7" single and disappeared into a recording studio with Brian Deck (Red Red Meat, Califone, Modest Mouse) for over a year. The result is Dekkagar, a mammoth of an album, surpassing label mate Bobby Conn's ambitiously epic excursions into seventies excess. This may conjure nightmarish visions of an unholy union of Electric Light Orchestra, Fleetwood Mac and Supertramp. Fear not. Too much work was put into this album for it to be driven by mere irony. What could have been an overly cluttered everything-but-the-kitsch'n sink production is more of a tribute to the spare elegance of Curtis Mayfield and the studio mastery of Steely Dan. Take the first track, "Making love (In The Natural Light)." The 11 plus minute opus contains over 70 tracks, and was so unwieldy it had to be split into two parts. Many of the vocal tracks were improvised. But you wouldn't know it from listening to it, as it's smooth, soulful track that goes down like a fine Port and is gone before you realize it. "Neverstop" is sunny, up-tempo blue-eyed soul. "See No Evil" features a muted electronic piano, jazzy guitar reminiscent of Shuggy Otis, and Mayfield-inspired falsetto vocals. "Lachrymosa" is a real stunner, with multilayered "Pusherman"-style percussion, an army of guitars, keyboards and horns building to a briefly cacophonous peak that would fit in snugly on Funkadelic's 1972 America Eats Its Young. "So Anna" is a lush ballad that actually does recall ELO circa A New World Record (1976), but is closer to recent Super Furry Animals. The overall effect is less nostalgia than reviving seemingly long-forgotten recording techniques that haven't been heard since the symphonic soul of Florida's Little Beaver and Miami, and the silky, spaced-out cosmic country of David Crosby's If Only I Could Remember My Name ('71) and Ozark Mountain Daredevils. The National Trust have dug up the discarded baton of opulent, soulful music and they're off and running. I'm guessing there will soon be plenty more to pass on the baton and carry on this rehabilitated face of Americana.
