Four Thieves Gone, the sophomore album from North Carolina folk band The Avett Brothers, begins with an open letter to listeners: "The songs herein are the result of two weeks spent in the very western part of North Carolina," reads a note written on the first page of the disc's liner notes. "In a house by the lake, we spent our days and nights realizing and recording these, our most current chapter of songs … these are the Robbinsville sessions."
The note continues with descriptions of the band's down-home recording environment, including having "drums in the dining room [and] cables in the carpet." Upon listening to the resulting songs, it becomes clear that the only things missing from the band's description of its Robbinsville sessions are shots of whiskey and old-fashioned card games. Four Thieves Gone is an album that produces an air of undeniable country charm. Even more prevalent is the air given off by its creators — The Avett Brothers are musicians of the purest kind, completely unconcerned with image or impressions. Their melodies are as simple as their intentions — to create good music, nothing more, nothing less.
Consequently, the album is one that will appeal to music lovers of only the purest kind. With long, wandering songs devoid of any hooks, Four Thieves Gone is far from a pop album but still lighter than a jam band disc. But for people who live and breathe music, like the band themselves, the album is a refreshing taste of bluegrass that is as lovely as it is simple.
Like a true country album, this collection of songs feature colloquial topics ranging from alcohol-induced affection ("Talk on Indolence") to the glories of driving a car for the first time ("Sixteen in July"). None of it is particularly hard-hitting — "Pretty Girl from Feltre" is essentially about a cargo van — but none of it exhibits the ignorance so plaguing many modern country acts. The Avett Brothers may sing of failed marriages on tracks like "Matrimony," but they're no Alan Jackson. Oozing earnestness, the band manages to put a clever spin on many worn-out Nashville topics.
The most shining example of the band's infusion of bluegrass and alt-rock is "Pretend Love," a delightfully lazy tune with scathing lyrics that contradict its light-hearted tone. "Don't be fooled by my words / If you chose to believe them / You'd plainly be wrong," lead singer Scott Avett croons over his brother Seth's acoustic guitar, "I must let you know / My love for you was only pretend."
Continuing their witty take on old rhythms, the band mixes the folksy guitars of Neil Young and the frantic vocals of Michael Stipe on "Talk on Indolence," a rambling ode to the panic of quick infatuation. But excluding these two particular songs, the album is generally a slow one, sounding like a new age, banjo-infused Simon and Garfunkel record.
For all their effort and earnestness, however, The Avett Brothers frequently come up short on professionalism. The harmonies created by brothers Scott and Seth are rarely in tune, with many songs featuring Seth merely screaming or making other unintelligible sounds behind Scott's otherwise appealing tenor. Also bothersome is the band's lack of cohesiveness. Songs like the sorrowful "The Lowering (A Sad Day in Greenvilletown)" would be much better without random bursts of banjo notes or wayward guitar slides. But chalk this scattered sound up to the band's very nature. Holed up in a cabin in North Carolina with nothing but acoustic instruments, homemade studio equipment and a genuine love for music, it's difficult to imagine that the band resisted the urge to experiment with their sound. Their sloppiness is only a reflection of their passion.
Authentic and engaging, Four Thieves Gone is a mix of bluegrass, country, and alt-rock that appeals without particularly captivating. The Avett Brother's second album pays homage to its folksy North Carolina roots with songs that will appeal only to those who appreciate the Southern sweat and zeal that went into creating them.
3 out of 5
