iron and wine

Iron and Wine, the recording name of singer-songwriter Sam Beam, first achieved recognition with so many other lesser-known artists when he appeared on the Garden State soundtrack. Regrettably, Iron and Wine is more often associated with its cover of the Postal Service's "Such Great Heights" than Beam's stellar solo work.

With his third release, The Shepherd's Dog, Iron and Wine intersperses his signature melancholic tone with more upbeat efforts. However, Beam does not always decide which approach to take. On the first track, "Pagan Angel and a Borrowed Car," there is a tenuous struggle between the vocals and instruments to determine the pace of the song, as the faster instrumental tempo fights the restraint of the vocals. This lack of direction is most likely a product of Iron and Wine's newly expanded repertoire, especially considering that Beam personally produced his debut album, The Creek Drank the Cradle, which he also recorded in his own basement.

Although most fans will be pleased by Beam's more conventional efforts, one of the album's stand-out tracks is distinct mostly because of its experimentation. "House by the Sea" is dreamlike, though it is tethered to the earth by interceding kazoos. It sounds like what you might imagine a pack of wanderers would sing around a late night campfire, genuine and nostalgic like the label soaked off an old bottle of moonshine.

Nevertheless, Beam is careful to wander away from formal structure only occasionally and makes concessions by often referring to his classic, mournful style.

The most beautiful song on Shepherd's Dog is without a doubt "Carousel," a somber lament on the sensation of leaving the place you love only to return to a place devastated by time. Its structure bears remarkable resemblance to the best song off 2004's Our Endless Numbered Days, "Each Coming Night," with plunging chord progressions that sink your heart lower with each beat.

"Resurrection Fern" is vintage, vocal-driven Beam at his sentimental best. He crafts a Faulknerian mythology that anyone can long for as their own; it's like looking back on the train tracks that lead to the house you grew up in.

Contrasting the struggle of the first track, the final song, "Flightless Bird, American Mouth," represents a compromise of sorts. It forgoes the melancholy, but the instruments continue to serve the vocals, and not the other way around. Beam is a lyrical artisan, but he too often hides that strength beneath more generic instrumentation. It brings the album full circle, like a crown, which Iron and Wine could proudly wear as the newfound royalty of folk-rock.