Review: St. Paul & The Broken Bones Stride Into an Edgier, Indie Approach on ‘Angels in Science Fiction

ST. PAUL & THE BROKEN BONES
ANGELS IN SCIENCE FICTION
(ATO)
3 1/2 out of 5 stars

It takes guts, determination, and fortitude for artists to break from the style that made them famous. But inventive iconoclasts, from Pablo Picasso and Andy Warhol to Bob Dylan and David Bowie, are just some of the legendary talents who refused to retread ground that provided their initial stardom in favor of pushing artistic boundaries which often alienated, or at least confused, fans.

While Alabama’s St. Paul & the Broken Bones haven’t reached that level of crossover fame, they have abandoned the bluesy Southern soul that brought them national attention on their 2014 debut, gradually but resolutely striding into an edgier, indie approach. Three subsequent releases included touches of psychedelia with nods to experimental, sonic, and lyrically challenging territory.  

This one moves the needle even further. 

When Paul Janeway, the band’s primary lyricist and lead singer, learned of his wife’s pregnancy, he penned letters to his unborn child. They were swiftly turned into songs and recorded before his daughter’s birth. But these are no lullabies, as topics of death and danger along with love and devotion are dominant. Neither do they resemble much-approaching pop with Janeway’s trembling falsetto approximating Marvin Gaye circa Here, My Dear. 

Flashes of pensive, funky jazz infuse some of these dozen tracks. That’s the sound of “Oporto-Madrid Blvd,” with its brooding swampy beat along with peculiar orchestral punctuation, and the disco drums driving “City Federal Building.” 

Yet the overall tone is tamped down. Choruses appear occasionally but are seldom obvious nor easily absorbed. Ghostly guitar and ominous bass lines underpin the ambling “Sea Star.” And in “South Dakota,” Janeway wanders over ruminating stripped-down accompaniment. The band’s once-dynamic horns are often understated and sometimes completely missing.    

I’ve got a show, he muses on the closing “Marigold” (his daughter’s name), a sweet piano and string-enhanced declaration of love. It puts an exclamation point on Janeway’s conflicted emotions towards a profession that forces him to leave home, leading to this sensitive, often moody, intermittently lovely, if cautionary, set.    

Photo by Paige Sara / Sacks & Co.