Hint of blues, dash of folk merges smoothly

Till the Sun Turns Black Ray LaMontaigne RCA

out of

… Till the Sun Turns Black Ray LaMontaigne RCA

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LaMontaigne’s Till the Sun Turns Black sits curiously between genres: Its languid pace and soft vocal delivery preclude a “rock” designation, while at the same time its elaborately textured instrumental sections frustrate any attempt to describe the music as “folk.” One might have considered the blues label, if not for LaMontaigne’s lyrics, which are full of warmth and celebration.

For better or worse, LaMontaigne’s style is wholly his own: an interesting combination of acoustic guitar chords, dreamlike piano trills and long, plaintive string accompaniments. Though it may not be the type of album you’d show off to your friends on a Friday night, it would work well as accompaniment for a long, solitary drive home.

The first song on Till the Sun Turns Black, “Be Here Now,” finds LaMontaigne backed by a few acoustic guitar chords, singing words of encouragement along to a delicate piano melody. “Don’t look for love in faces, places/It’s in you, that’s where you’ll find it,” he sings.

Though each listener may have his or her own doubts as to the accuracy of LaMontaigne’s message, it is certainly a nice one to encounter after a particularly weary or long day. The song moves at a soft, genial pace, clocking in at more than five minutes, and ends as gently as it began.

The second track, “Empty,” is the high point of the album. LaMontaigne paints a vivid and compelling story of a man who “chooses to dwell in his disasters.” While the mood of the song is a strange departure from that of its predecessor, its more complex emotional palate proves to be a welcome addition to the album.

LaMontaigne, with his patient delivery, mid-range voice and crisp articulation is wholly believable as a common man facing complex problems. The song opens with a tense cello resolved by open acoustic guitar chords; the combination of such disparate pitches adds tension and dynamism to LaMontaigne’s sound. He sings along to a moving bass line that holds the listener’s interest with its soft, elegant melody.

The song contains some of the album’s strongest lines: “Of these cutthroat busted subsets, of these cold and damp white mornings I have grown weary,” he sings. “Outside the rain is tapping on the leaves/To me it sounds like they’re applauding the quiet love we’ve made.” To hear LaMontaigne perform so well so early in the album only frustrates the rest of the work: Though each of the following songs is capable in its own way, none leaves as strong an impression on the listener as “Empty.”

LaMontaigne follows this piece with the confusing “Barfly,” a goodbye to a lover that sounds neither happy nor sad. It is difficult to discern the mood of the song from the constant, feather-light electric guitar solo that rests on top of the song’s acoustic base: At times it sounds almost celebratory, in contrast to the supposed loss the narrator must deal with.

Likewise, “Three More Days,” the story of a homecoming, confusingly adjoins LaMontaigne’s throaty, exasperated voice with a trumpet and joyful, psychedelic-tinged keyboard riff. While both songs show promise, these collisions between vocal and instrumental styling keep them from achieving their full potential.

As a whole, Till the Sun Turns Black is a capable and accomplished work, well suited to a reflective, solitary mood. While it is patchy and inconsistent in places, it is interesting to see how LaMontaigne incorporates unusual sounds such as the cello into acoustic-based music.

Though it may not be an album you’ll find yourself gabbing about, you may be surprised to find yourself softly humming one of its melodies on the walk to class one morning.