Horse Feathers unbury the truth

I don’t know who it was that started comparing Horse Feathers to Iron & Wine, but that just ain’t right. Iron & Wine’s early recordings sounded like they had been pulled from the heart of a grandfather clock, caked in dust and age that called into question the carbon dater’s adequacies. On Words Are Dead, Horse Feathers recollects that incident where you and your little friends went exploring in old man Weatherby’s abandoned, hillside home, and found that set of recordings buried deep within the chest of that clock that still ticked and tacked away at life. It was that same exploration that you now tell your children about, as you surround around the campfire when you head to the trees for your annual escapes.

It was right of Pitchfork to call Words Are Dead more avant-garde than other folk acts, but it is hard to understand that claim at moments. If you alone listened to any one song on Words Are Dead, Horse Feathers could be considered a fairly straightforward songwriting duo that fancies on their abilities to instrumentalize their tunes using the folk appropriate mandolin, singing saw, string arrangement combination. But within your glance from your step back, you see the inner workings of an album that is saying much more with its arrangement than your average coffee-shop-come-Sub-Pop-indie-folk-act. They might not be in the vein of Sam Beam, but they don’t need to rely on another band’s expertise to brighten up their b-sides for a release either. (No offense intended – I really love Iron & Wine.)

[mp3] Horse Feathers - Hardwood Pews
[mp3] Horse Feathers - Finch On Saturdays

Words Are Dead has been nominated for Americana Album of the Year in the Plug Awards. Be sure to vote for them here.

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