DeVotchKa
A Mad & Faithful Telling
Anti, 2008
By Allana Mayer
I long for the day when I can reference DeVotchKa to my friends as something other than “the band that did the Little Miss Sunshine soundtrack —
no, not Sufjan Stevens.” Too bad their notoriety didn’t begin with their beautifully twisted takes on Tex-Mex, Mariachi, and gypsy styles, or even the original DeVotchKa release of How It Ends, two years before Steve Carrell et al. fought their way across America to the tune of its unabashed nostalgia. And it’s also too bad their fame as pop innovators will be put off another year, with this underwhelming release.
This album fits the age-old conundrum nicely: whether ’tis nobler to keep your trademark sound and what fans come with it, or allow your band’s style to change with time and age and exploration. Blonde Redhead and The Notwist both transitioned from thrashy, intense rock to shimmering, operatic pop, collecting critical acclaim and audience respect along the way; their early work had merit, but no one I know would eschew their later sound in favour of it. Devotchka had a forward momentum, an upward drift to widespread appeal, apparent in the differences between Una Volta and How It Ends. This velocity is halted with A Mad & Faithful Telling, as they return to their roots but seem like they’re doing it on principle rather than any intrinsic desire to do so. I feel like the emotions of How It Ends have set me up for disappointment; I feel cheated out of my high expectations for Devotchka’s creative potential.
The sour notes of “Basso Profundo” start the album off on a bad note, which lasts through the entire first half until the blessed release of “Transliterator.” I’m convinced this song is the only saving grace of A Mad & Faithful Telling. Sure, Devotchka recaptures their trademark style with wistful, whimsical songs like “Along The Way” and “Blessing in Disguise,” but nothing makes this album a keeper, and it’s nothing compared to their earlier releases.
Frontman Nick Urata’s Latino-accented voice seems forced, as though he double-timed the whisky-and-cigarette regime in anticipation for the recording process. I’m afraid they undertook the entire endeavour without a single heart really being in it, though “Transliterator” does give me hope. But I’d rather DeVotchKa had let inspiration take its dear, sweet time instead of pulling old material out of the trash heap and trying to spin it as new.
