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'THE AUTUMN LEAVES
TREATS AND TREASURES (GRIMSEY)
Sometime around 1965 or 1966, there was an idyllic slice of American garage-band history typified by kids who'd just discovered hallucinogens but still had short hair. If that era ever existed, David Beckey is trying to recreate its sound. And if it didn't, he's doing a great job of inventing one. His perfectly named Autumn Leaves enforce a strict attention to detail and a stylish disdain for modern guitar effects--although tasteful analog reverb and feedback are fair game. The result is a band that's a near-perfect reflection of a past that never quite happened, with portions of early-'80s California psychedelia (Rain Parade, Dream Syndicate) thrown in for good measure. The Leaves' gorgeous time-machine approach to pop also explains how singer Beckey can get away with such song topics as magic flowers and everlasting sun castles--hey, you gotta feel it to understand. Besides, curmudgeonly bassist Keith Patterson (ex-Spectors) is always on hand to harden the edge if need be. For that matter, Beckey isn't averse to a little edgy darkness, either; Phantom Girl Blues sends the record on a Halloween-ish detour. Yet, You Didn't Say a Word and Start to Fall are perfect pop;Why Must You Feel So Sad? is a gorgeous Pet Sounds-like chamber ballad; and the sunrise-soaked When I Close My Eyes leaps back to early-'70s art-rock acoustics. This band isn't living in the past; they just never found much reason to abandon old ways.
-Simon Peter Groebner, City Pages, October 29, 1997. '~ City Pages 'THE AUTUMN LEAVES
TREATS AND TREASURES (GRIMSEY)
****(four stars out of five)
Much like the season they salute with their moniker, the Autumn Leaves traffic in a forboding sort of melancholia that plays as crisp as a bittersweet back-to-school breeze. Led by ace songwriter David Beckey, the Leaves are a local super group of sorts, fleshed out by bassist Keith Patterson (The Funseekers, The Spectors), singer/guitarist Matt Gerzema (Dearly, The Legendary Jim Ruiz Group) and drummer Steve Kent. And this debut long-player is even more accomplished than that collective resume might suggest. Like a hybrid of The Byrds, Soft Boys, Beatles and La's, the Leaves craft a classic, but thoroughly modern sound that embraces jangly guitars, understated harmonies, chiming bells, McCartney-esque bass runs, and songs about girls, ghosts, and ghostly girls. If it had been produced in England, Treats and Treasures would undoubtedly be lumped in with the Brit-pop masses. But there is really only one way to describe such an enchanting record: Perfectpop, because it doesn't get much prettier.
-Jim Walsh, St. Paul Pioneer Press, 1997 '~ St. Paul Pioneer Press 'THE AUTUMN LEAVES
TREATS AND TREASURES (GRIMSEY)
In a word, decay. That's why autumn is the season when truly great pop fills you with a riot of disparate emotions you can't quite make sense of. Autumn is Nick Drake's Bryter Later , Crowded House's Together Alone, The Byrds' The Notorious Byrd Brothers. Records caught squarely between minor-chord loss and back-to-school optimism. Minneapolis quartet The Autumn Leaves are cosy with the aforesaid tradition. And if a title like Theme To The Autumn Leaves suggests something a little knowing about David Beckey's blueprint, the song itself reveals the polar opposite: a childlike faith in the ability of a simple tune to convey the messiest emotions. It's a faith, of course, that he's right to display. On Why Must You Feel So Sad?, his colleagues' ever-present harmonies propel himto place more commonly inhabited by lachrymose magicians like Jimmy Webb or Burt Bacharach.
In the main, though, it's a seam of psychedelic gentility sure to appease anyone still holding out for a second La's album. Even better is The Everlasting Sun Castle, which suggests that Freddie Phillips's theme music to Camberwick Green has exerted a great influence than we imagined. By the time it segues into joyously redemptive closer The Summer's Gone, you'll already be drafting the fan letter. If this is what The Autumn Leaves are capable of creating on their own meagre finances, the mind boggles at the lush, layered delights an inevitable major label transfer might yield.
-Peter Paphides, Time Out, London, September 16, 1998 '~ Time Out: London |
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