Lee & Willbee “North Carolina” Review
With Lee Chameleon rooted in Chicago, Markus Willbee corresponding from Salt Lake City, and the guitar contributions of Patrick Roche in Seattle, Lee & Willbee’s members collaborated via the convenience of modern technology to create North Carolina. It’s unclear how the state itself factors into the mix, but there’s an undeniable sense of movement and travel in their record, one of hours and hours spent gazing thoughtfully at the swishing landscape from a train window. The largely electronic band’s music automatically conjures up memories of the Postal Service, though they mix in enough acoustic folk to ward off further comparisons to that much-adored group.
Blending electronic and folk is a strange mix of the organic and inorganic, and what at first seems a refreshing blend of two popular genres ultimately succeeds in adding a sense of urgency to otherwise quiet, polite campfire musings. The computer sounds aren’t so much robotic as they are surging waves and rhythmic pulses, hinting at confusion and ultimately forcing the songs to pick up their feet and jog, or maybe even sprint. Soft, humble vocals bring back the human element and complement the pretty guitar while cementing even further the vulnerability of our narrators–it seems they’re traveling this great land in search of answers to those time-honored question of life and love, answers sought through reflection, self-medication, and escape.
Opener “North Carolina” begins with a few spazzy blips before breaking into a lightly grunge-inspired guitar line, and then creepy vocals that seem manipulated for oddity in a fashion often favored by Ween. As the hazy chorus breaks and the vocals assume their timid drip, Chameleon sounds a lot like Hot Chip’s Alexis Taylor, especially as he bumps in and around whirring mechanic noises. These soaring sounds suggest expansiveness as they poke and prod at the more timid elements of the song, and indeed its very opening line explains “As the mountains pass us by/Wheels are turning.” A determined restlessness drives an unnamed journey as the track skips forward, though a druggie calm throughout allows the scenery to calm rather than excite.
But it seems Lee & Willbee are optimists. The woozy “Day of Sunshine” asks “When will this night pass/Sedatives are built to last,” speaking of a need for help to get through the dark hours, and yet emerging with nothing but hope for the morning with “Rise and shine/You’ve got more to live for than all the dead combined.” Similarly, as “Loves Not Worth It” remembers “All those wasted years/The memories bring me to tears,” the poor soul still decides in the end that it was better to have loved. The tune is airy and sweet despite the relationship that has ended, coming across like a pleasantly hypnotic dream; the narrator sings almost as an afterthought, a mind distracted by confusion or substances, but at least he’s not wallowing in self pity. An unexpected buzzing Weezer-like outro sends the listener off to think positively about their fates, even as a scary monstrous layer creeps into the vocals.
The lovely home-recorded “Typhoid Mary” highlights the group’s acoustic skills while bringing home the lesson they’ve learned during their travels. What at first appears to be a lamentation of a jilted lover, turns into an almost anthemic appeal to “Cheer up, cheer up yeah,” as a laundry list of potential heartache cures are presented: marijuana, fornication, time. The number sticks to the folk side of Lee & Willbee’s talents, but is comforting for more than just its guitar pop; its “I will survive” mantra carries the record to a satisfying close. Whatever the means necessary to get there, and whatever one’s eventual location may be, it’s apparently all about the journey.
[Review by guest contributor Liz Levine.]
