2000: The For Carnation - “Moonbeams”

Slint’s Spiderland is one of those referential holy grails of 90s indie rock, a work so defining to its genre that it can’t really be separated from its looming shadow of influence. After disbanding by 1992, the members of Slint went on to form and/or contribute to several other projects, including Tortoise, the Breeders, whichever variation of Palace that Will Oldham felt like using that week, and The For Carnation.

The For Carnation was vocalist/guitarist Brian McMahon’s post-Slint project. McMahon formed the band in 1994, though it was more of a solo project — for much of its existence, there was a revolving door’s worth of members surrounding McMahon. Regardless, in their existence, The For Carnation released two EPs in 1995-96 on Matador, and a lone, self-titled album in 2000 on Touch & Go.

Their self-titled effort was a dimly austere record, atmospherically stark and paced like a snail. The time between Spiderland and The For Carnation was nearly ten years and, in that time, numerous bands picked up on Slint’s foreboding post-rock, possibly to the point of referential redundancy — along with the volume dynamics, McMahon’s spoken style of vocals became coded into the genre’s DNA, giving us everything from June of 44 to Drill For Absentee; early Cerberus Shoal to Codeine.

The For Carnation weren’t picked up on the same way as Slint, however — despite some ties of similarity, such as a quietly spoken vocal approach and David Pajo’s presence on the band’s debut EP Fight Songs, The For Carnation’s music was perhaps too sparse to be recognized in the same way. Spiderland set the blueprint for 90s post-rock; by the time of McMahon’s resurgence, 90s post-rock was quite literally tired — its glacial offshoot slowcore had since entered the public consciousness, and perhaps what McMahon and co. were offering was just too low-key.

Still, The For Carnation were every bit as moody as Slint, though tracks like “Moonbeams” operate in a wistful, somewhat resigned manner. There are no “Good Morning, Captain” screams or distorted sections, just nine minutes of sparse, steadfast dead-of-night darkness. When “Moonbeams” does get louder, it’s very gradual and feels earned, not jagged or fractured. Some of its electronic flourishes (notably a brief series of vaguely sci-fi electronic bleeps that pop up throughout) may sound a bit dated, very much placed within the late-90s/early-00s period, but they’re hardly distracting — given the numerous examples of contemporary acts trying to nail that vintage 80s sound, it’s actually somewhat refreshing to revisit a different style of dated electronics.

Much of The For Carnation is delicately labored over, often feeling creakingly frail. Its scope as an unrelentingly sparse and forebodingly dark record is impressive, not unlike The White Birch-era Codeine or early Low. “Moonbeams,” however, is The For Carnation’s crowning finale, a sprawling beauty of quiet, middle-of-the-night introspection. Its simple, understated guitar motif is one of the most beautifully restrained instrumental hooks (using the term “hook” very loosely) within pre-cinematic post-rock (as in, before “post-rock” started to mean “predictable cinematic climaxes”). Every sound in “Moonbeams” is distinct and delicately arranged within a deep and spacious atmosphere — this is darkness in the isolated sense of night, wind echoes and all.

DeLorean

There’s a lot of good music out there, and it’s not all being released this year. With DeLorean, we aim to rediscover overlooked artists and genres, to listen to music historically and contextually, to underscore the fluidity of music. While we will cover reissues here, our focus will be on music that’s not being pushed by a PR firm.

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