Local legend Darien Brahms’ latest release, the mostly great “Number 4,” is filled with these moments. On the best tracks, such as “For Crying Out Loud,” Brahms bridges the gap between Wilco’s alt-country and the off-beat vocal melodies of Beck, fusing the mix with a uniquely feminine touch. The quirkiness of the track rings melodic and true, challenging the listener to engage in the song again and again.
Other high points are frequent. “Fists Full Of Rain” worships ‘70s hard rock riffs with the same revivalist spirit and unsettling guitar effects as The White Stripes. “I’m So Afraid” speeds and sneers like a punk song, substituting distortion for acoustic axes. Even the slow songs offer surprises, such as “Shut Up And Be Quiet,” where menacing horns offer a tune as uninviting as the title.
Lyrically, Brahms can manipulate even the most tired metaphor, and while not reinventing the wheel, she imagines clever ways to give each a new groove. The chorus of “Beautiful Bridge” is a perfect example of Brahms’ bittersweet words: “I’m dangling from your frame / Dark water carries my laughter / Taking me soon after.” These crisp visions are enough to mask the tired words of the album’s only lyrical clunker, the played-out “I Used To Be A Clown,” in which the title character, unsurprisingly, “used to laugh and joke around / Now I’m just as sad as anyone.”
Likewise, the anything-goes spirit of the disc also allows for a few musical duds to sneak in. “Cream Machine,” a thinly-constructed blues stomp best suited for live energy, is a major misstep as the opener. “Sweet Little Darling” is a quaint little number suitable for Aimee Mann, but sounds awkward and forced beside Brahms’ rock and blues grit. And the track listing is simply padded by go-nowhere interludes such as “Kitty’s Trapped In The Well” and “Slide Song 1993.”
Blemishes and all, “Number 4” is able in its willingness to genre hop. Perhaps on her next record, Brahms will sacrifice some of her unbound creative energy for a bit more consistency.
Maine native William Earl is a musician and music writer. He’s currently living in Boston but has his ears on Maine-made music.