Pitchfork

If you've previously written off Shearwater as an Okkervil River side project, now is the time to reevaluate that stance. The band once split the difference between OR's frontman Will Shelf and keyboardist Jonathan Meiburg, each pulling 50/50 songwriting duties. You may wonder where Sheff has gone on this record, but you won't miss him. The push-pull between Sheff's croaking and Meiburg's lilting falsetto is gone, forcing the less-experienced vocalist to dial it up and find newfound strength in his vocals. With Meiburg in charge, Shearwater make several leaps from their previous albums: Did you want stark backwater hymns with PJ Harvey-levels of catharsis? Palo Santo has that (opener "La Dame at La Licorne"). Hiss-soaked tributes to some heretofore lost or imagined side of the radio dial à la M. Ward? That's here, too ("Palo Santo" and "Sing, Little Birdie"). Even if mid-tempo Bruce Hornsby piano ballads are your bag, Meiburg has that nailed down ("Seventy-four, Seventy-five" and "Johnny Viola".)

Those aren't even the highlights of Palo Santo. The records puts its best feet forward early: The banjo-plucked folk of "Red Sea, Black Sea" is overwhelmed by a strange backward pulse of keyboards throughout the verses, recalling the Southern Gothic twinge of R.E.M.'s early material. It's then lifted by sparse but stern percussion and Meiburg's ranting vocal turn in the chorus, powerful but frayed on every edge. That keyboard throb pushes the song one notch further into uncomfortability, building a sense of impending danger, but it's Meiburg's voice that makes you want to hear it again (and again). "White Waves" is perhaps where Sheff could have sat in on a duet, but instead makes for a rather catchy moment of schizophrenia. Meiburg's falsetto promises he "won't go traveling tonight," and more chillingly, "there's something singing in the ice in the deepest part of the wood." That's before the song sprouts an unexpected riff, a few chords lurching back and forth in syncopation, while his voice bursts and implores himself not to go over the guitars that rise and vanish at the whim of Meiburg's wavering delivery.

While Meiburg's voice and a guitar, piano or banjo are at the center of most of these tracks, the instrumentation has suddenly fallen into place, intuitive now where it once diverted attention from previous albums' monotonous mood. Palo Santo is no less dark, certainly, but the songs breathe and swell much more naturally, with some of Meiburg's sharpest melodies yet. The more fragile arrangements from the Shearwater of old appear now and again, but where you'd once expect an intimate performance, songs like "Palo Santo" hint at empty space beneath that's nearly bottomless. Will Sheff has been writing narrative songs for years, but Jonathan Meiburg has written the soundtrack worthy of his own, or anyone's, images.

"