”The Life, Times, and Demise of Indie Folk” by Lucas Rossi

of INDIE FOLK

Lucas Rossi Written by

Standing at the S. Carey (indie folk project of former Bon Iver drummer [this fact is always mentioned] Sean Carey) show here at Carleton a week or so ago, I started to feel a strange, nameless anxiety. There was a decent crowd. The band, in a departure from their new record’s sound (albeit a very enjoyable departure) weren’t really playing folk music at all. A few people who had listened to the record before the show hadn’t dug that folk sound. I began to wonder about the state of one of my favorite genres (maybe even my favorite genre). Why the mild lack of interest? Four years ago this show could have been huge. Why the alteration in reception, and in sound? For my own part, why had I heard only a handful of truly great indie folk records during the past two or three years? To understand my present anxiety, however, I have to turn back and show you some things from the past.

Indie folk, as part of the entire legacy of folk music in general, draws inspiration from many sources, but in terms of recent history it traces its most direct roots back to several lo-fi folk and folk-inspired projects from the 1990s and early 2000s, including artists like Neutral Milk Hotel, The Microphones, and The Mountain Goats. Such music caught the ears of a large number of eager listeners in the underground, listeners enamored with the use of some traditional folk elements amidst a dazzling display of heavy sounds and sonic experimentation, and drawn to the unabashedly emotional earnestness of the vocal delivery that was unconcerned with hitting every note perfectly, brazenly pulling at the heart strings even while its lyrics were clouded with confusing, vaguely pretentious symbolic imagery. These bands are a subject for another day, but it should be noted that the sound was, to say the least, refreshing. More than that it was a vision, and a foundation that could be built upon. Throughout the early-to-mid 2000s artists like Bright Eyes, The Decemberists, and Iron & Wine began to put out independent, alternative folk music clearly operating with those 90s predecessors in mind, but also slowly transforming that sound’s rough edges and into something more immediately palatable, more concerned with clarity of sound, and more clearly identifiable as full-fledged, authentic folk music. They engaged in a re-embracing the tradition American folk music and Americana aesthetic that for decades had simmered underneath mainstream rock and pop culture, while also taking cues from elements of rock music, especially the complex pop construction of later Beatles albums and the exquisitely layered harmonies and arrangements of Pet Sounds-era Beach Boys. This was indie folk: Neo-Americana (even if it wasn’t coming from the USA), fine-tuned with an ear for the subtle, the delicate, and the careful, crystalline dynamics of pleasing yet complex new folk for the Internet age. Still, the process had just begun. It was unclear whether this form would be something ultimately worth writing home about.

2007 and 2008, respectively, marked the entrances of the two projects that would come to almost single-highhandedly represent the style in the popular imagination: Bon Iver and Fleet Foxes. For Emma, Forever Ago and Fleet Foxes, both debut full-lengths, put indie folk on the map. For Emma was almost a revelation, cloaked in the half-true folklore of its origin story revolving around Justin Vernon’s hermitage in a cabin, recording heartbroken hymns with an acoustic guitar and some homemade percussion. The music, however, is the holiest part of that revelation. Vernon’s soulful voice croons and soars over the folksy, backwoods strummed guitars, with heart-wrenching harmonies entering at just the right moment to deliver the needed emotional punch. In its defined solitude there was something truly great. Fleet Foxes offered a much different experience, one more collective and communal given that they were in fact a full band, indulging in exquisite melodies and especially harmonies adorning rhythmic folk rock, with moments of energetic engagement (“Ragged Wood”) and tender softness (“Oliver James”). Far from perfect, yet nonetheless somehow still essential. The press, generally, raved about both. The albums had their detractors, sure, who saw what was going on there as illustrative of some of what was wrong with indie music as a whole. Even to fans, it was clear that there was still so much untapped potential. But these records remain worthy of their place in the pantheon of indie folk history. For Emma, especially, remains one of the most emotionally crushing and sonically tender albums in released in recent memory, and contains some of the best music ever achieved in this style.

Bon Iver and Fleet Foxes’ debuts captured the attention of the alt/indie world, but there remained yet more room for growth in the above-ground world of mainstream success. It would be negligent to ignore Mumford & Sons, who to a certain audience also embodied fully what it meant to be “indie folk”, regardless of your personal opinion on the quality of their music. On their 2009 debut Sigh No More, they took that re-finding of Americana and the use of an emotional folk aesthetic and re-purposed it as a mechanism for writing hopelessly catchy pop songs in the form of stompy, heavily bluegrass-inspired folk-pop tunes. Other related artists, like Noah and the Whale, also worked in this mold. Even with the success of these acts, the underground sound continued to progress and expand, introducing new elements like the psychadelia of Grizzly Bear’s Veckatimest, also in 2009. In 2010, the already-established act The Tallest Man on Earth released The Wild Hunt, another genre milestone: a young Swedish guy’s transformation into a modern-age Dylan, plucking heartland guitar lines with a throaty voice that even outdoes Dylan at times in its powerful delivery. Indie folk had come into its own not just as a legitimate and diverse genre, but also a scene whose exemplars were beginning to demand comparison to the greats of American folk music in a grand sense. This now near-explosive trajectory seemed to be quickly approaching its apex. It was, and that peak arrived swiftly. The following year, 2011, is in my biased estimation the high watermark of indie folk, the moment when it all came together and effectively be-all end-all for the scene. The aforementioned genre giants, Bon Iver and Fleet Foxes, cemented their status with two massively anticipated sophomore LPs: Bon Iver, Bon Iver and Helplessness Blues. Bon Iver was a bit of a shock. Completely stepping away from the sparse desperation of the debut, Bon Iver ushered in the sound of a full band, employing a lot of electric instrumentation washed in reverb while maintaining fundamentally that sorrowful folk aesthetic. I can’t personally say that it was an improvement over For Emma, but there is no denying its impact. Fleet Foxes was another story entirely: as far as I’m concerned, Helplessness Blues is the best thing to ever come out of mainline indie folk. They

tightened their production, letting their improved harmonies breathe fully for the first time and the guitars to bloom in their lushness. The band really focused on their instrumentation, and never shied away from experimentation when needed, as in the strained vocals and improvised bass clarinet solo of the monumental “The Shrine/An Argument.” They cast off some of their predictable nature-imagery lyrics and partook in serious commentary about the insecurity of the modern human personality. Overall, it was an astounding project that in my opinion deserves to take its place not simply in the canon of indie folk, but in the canon of American folk music as a whole. The year was also filled with a multitude of other excellent releases. Laura Marling, known for her associations with the Mumfords and the Noahs, released perhaps the most confident and inspired album of her career with A Creature I Don’t Know, a gorgeously rendered and conceptually tight exercise in nostalgic Americana, easily surpassing her other British peers trying their hands at the same game. Beirut, for years operating on the fringe of what you could call indie folk, cast off their Eastern European influences and put out The Rip Tide, a charming blend of infectious horn melodies and poignant individual and group vocals. City and Colour’s Little Hell, Saintseneca’s Last; the list goes on and on. It seemed all the potential had been realized. We were at last entering the golden age of indie folk. That golden age, it turned out, was more of a golden moment, and it came to an end in right about 2012. Perhaps, in the ecstatic haze of the post-explosion aftermath, the art began to stagnate. But it wasn’t merely an issue of forces within; things outside were changing too. As the “indie kids” of the 2000s mutated in the popular vernacular into the “hipsters” of the new decade, the perceptions about the people who constituted indie folk’s core demographic also changed, turning towards the negative. Heightening this issue was the fact that Bon Iver won a Grammy in 2012, something that would have seemed unfathomable back in 2007, and much to the chagrin of a mainstream audience many of whom had never heard of the artist before. Vernon’s newfound name recognition even earned Bon Iver an SNL sketch where Justin Timberlake puts himself to sleep with a rendition of “Holocene.” The tone of the sketch was playful, but underneath it there was hanging the sentiment that seemed to be taking over popular opinion: That this music was, in the eyes of many, kind of lame, and even boring. It was music for white, middle class 20-somethings drawn in by pretentious, inauthentic bullshit. The actual music being released didn’t help, either. Both Fleet Foxes and Bon Iver sunk into extended hiatuses. Mumford & Sons released their frankly middling sophomore effort Babel in 2012, where it suddenly became clear to everyone that only being able to write one song (albeit a pretty good song) doesn’t lend itself to making good records. Throughout 2012 and 2013, a number of nominally indie folk artists received massive amounts of attention for their hit singles, most notably Of Monsters and Men with “Little Talks” and The Lumineers with “Ho Hey”. These songs sounded like sorta-typical indie folk on the surface, yet lacked the emotional resonance and dedicated textural construction of the genre’s best work. The problems inherent in them had nothing to do with being “mainstream.” They’re not even strictly “bad” songs. They just simply do not do the genre’s core values any justice. In the summer of 2013, catering a wedding, I remember walking over to the couple’s elaborate photo display. They had a board with the lyrics of the chorus of “Ho Hey” (“I belong with you / You belong with me / You’re my sweetheart”) written out, surrounded by photos of just about the most typical suburban upper-middle class couple you could possibly imagine. One of the lines was transcribed incorrectly. I remember thinking, “Well, there goes just about all the poignancy in this whole thing.” Obviously an overreaction, but it felt like everyone had been right. This kind of music was doomed to degenerate into trite, unengaged nonsense.

Obviously, indie folk isn’t truly dead. Excellent music is still being created by a number of artists dedicated to the style. Saintseneca’s Dark Arc, released earlier this year, might even be one of my top ten favorite indie folk records. And the indie folk influence has lived on in related genres like indie rock, heavily visible in pieces like 2013’s “Wheel” by Laura Stevenson, which would absolutely be a genre standout if you could fully label it as indie folk. Still, it’s not quite the same. Where’s the growth? Why can’t we have another 2011? Why won’t people stop talking and listen to S. Carey? Maybe Fleet Foxes and Bon Iver will arise from their resting places to deliver us unto a new golden age of indie folk, out of the evil of banality and inauthenticity. What is more likely is that I’ll have to recognize that the last decade was a special time for this kind of music that needs to be recognized for its importance, even canonized in the folk tradition. And it’s not likely to ever repeat itself in quite the same way.