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Divine Comedians – Every Broken Clock
Local project led by singer/songwriter Nick DuFour (formerly of The Dollfaces) is consummate indie-rock with a lot of heart – and I say that for reasons other than the golden jangly acoustic guitar furling at the center of many of these autumnal jams. It perfectly balances the soft hazy brush with shambolic rhythms, an acoustic folky singer/songwriter vibe clipped and catapulted by booming gritty guitars.
The lyrics wind in literate barrel rolls that could jerk a tear, warm a heart or punch you in the gut – often sung in a mid-range glide that rarely wavers, flits or howls, thus never overpowering the words - both plaintive and endearing. With the swell of organ hums, cascading chimes, stately accordion wheezes and brass blurts giving wings to DuFours sometimes pained poetics it conjures a wistful soul in a patchy blazer with a wilting flower in a fading orchestra hall on an overcast campus, (perhaps the middle ground of Neutral Milk Hotel’s theatric dressings and Lou Barlow’s weary confessionals).
There’s errant energy that spills all over as though the players may not keep up with these fast hooks (“Dead Flowers”), there’s slower, dreamier takes that almost waltz with a Magnetic Fields-ian aesthetic (“Halo or Horns”), there’s powerful, poppy twirls with sunny guitars and brass masking brow-rasingly-cutting lyrics (“Survivor’s Guilt”) and then there’s the ideal driving-in-autumn-ballad with intertwining acoustic and electric guitars over soaring vocals that replicate that welcomed brisk chill of autumn (“Miles on the Map”).
www.myspace.com/divinecomediansmusic
The lyrics wind in literate barrel rolls that could jerk a tear, warm a heart or punch you in the gut – often sung in a mid-range glide that rarely wavers, flits or howls, thus never overpowering the words - both plaintive and endearing. With the swell of organ hums, cascading chimes, stately accordion wheezes and brass blurts giving wings to DuFours sometimes pained poetics it conjures a wistful soul in a patchy blazer with a wilting flower in a fading orchestra hall on an overcast campus, (perhaps the middle ground of Neutral Milk Hotel’s theatric dressings and Lou Barlow’s weary confessionals).
There’s errant energy that spills all over as though the players may not keep up with these fast hooks (“Dead Flowers”), there’s slower, dreamier takes that almost waltz with a Magnetic Fields-ian aesthetic (“Halo or Horns”), there’s powerful, poppy twirls with sunny guitars and brass masking brow-rasingly-cutting lyrics (“Survivor’s Guilt”) and then there’s the ideal driving-in-autumn-ballad with intertwining acoustic and electric guitars over soaring vocals that replicate that welcomed brisk chill of autumn (“Miles on the Map”).
www.myspace.com/divinecomediansmusic
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