The term "worldly" is so often couched beside "weary" that one might assume
the gathering of wisdom is inevitably tandemed with boredom and malaise. The
music of Washington, D.C.'s Canyon is by all accounts worldly: aware of
American rock's storied history, shrewd to life's myriad complications and
troubles, a product of experience rather than marketing guile. Yet the band
does not allow this wealth of knowing to deadweight their music. For Canyon,
curiosity and the awareness it breeds are less tiring than inspiring: they
are fodder for songs that are at once classic and fresh, both understated
and majestic.
The cover of Canyon's latest, Canyon: Live in NYC, features a desert fire
burning slow and austere, billowing smoke into the dry evening air. It is
a
perfect metaphor for the band's music, which always feels elemental, yet
also seers with a sense of purpose and otherworldly grace. As on their two
studio albums, 2002's Empty Rooms and their eponymous 2001 debut, the band
conjures up a lush, ethereal soundtrack to love, loss, and all else that is
either stinging or sweet. To hear the band's live reworking of the Rolling
Stones’ "Playing With Fire," which is here metered down to a hypnotic slow
burn, is to truly understand why, in this life, one indeed better watch their
step. The band knows that, like the deep and gorgeous chasm of their
namesake, anything truly sublime is treacherous as well. As such, this live
recording is characteristically elegant without ever becoming too
comfortable. Songs from the band's back catalogue are here injected with a
sense of sumptuous urgency, as if it were the last time they will be played
before disappearing into the abyss.
Much has been made of the musical pedigree of founding members Brandon
Butler (vocals, lap steel, harmonica) and Joe Winkle (guitars, harmonium,
lap steel), who once served with emo forerunners Boy's Life. Initially, it
is difficult to imagine Canyon's aesthetic farther removed from that band's
storied guitar violence. Yet, as one allows the music of Canyon to fully
manifest, it is evident that this seething intensity still very much exists,
only in a different form. Anchored by Evan Berodt on bass, Dave Bryson on
drums, and Derrick DeBorja on organ and accordion, Canyon's music is
delicately underpinned by atmospherics that are nearly as volatile as they
are beautiful. That the band seldom trades in on this threat of pyrotechnics
is a testament to maturity rather than complacency. Experience has taught
them that things unsaid often speak loudest, that the bite without the bark
sometimes stings the most.
|