Album Review: Wesafari – Sea Survivors

Wesafari – Sea Survivors
(2010, self-released)

How does one write objectively about an album that one has been anticipating for several years, created by one’s friends (and in which one even makes a tiny cameo appearance)? One starts, I suppose, by ditching the third person and any appearance of objectivity and gushing.  So here I gush:

Wesafari has been haunting the streets and clubs of Seattle for several years now.  Their songs have been included on several volumes of Ball of Wax, including the very first one.  They released their debut album, Alaska, in 2005, and had begun work on this follow-up before the Alaska CDs had been pressed (fun fact: the song “Chamber,” featured on Ball of Wax Volume 1, is included on this album in the exact same form).  Wesafari, and in particular its driving creative force Rick Wright, does not believe in rushing things, and the level of care they have taken in creating Sea Survivors should be abundantly clear to the most casual observer.

You know how sometimes you ask somebody to describe their band and they say “oh, I don’t know, we’re pretty hard to pigeonhole with just a genre or a few words,” and then you hear them and they sound like a reggae version of Smashmouth?  Wesafari is not like that; they are, and always have been, genuinely difficult to categorize.  Possessed of impressive instrumental and songwriting chops, boundless ambition, and a shitload of instruments, they weave together an incredible sonic tapestry, including a healthy dose of experimentation with instrumentation and arrangements, pop hooks, infectious beats, satisfyingly substantial guitar and bass sounds, and vocals and lyrics that demand your attention and inclusion, whether you understand them or not.  Wesafari approaches each song as an individual work of art, with care and intention.  Nothing this band does ever feels tossed-off or lackluster.

Sea Survivors starts off with a slow build in the form of “Lions,” welcoming the listener in with a quietly syncopated, off-kilter groove (percussion, guitars, Fender Rhodes) rather than a bash-you-over-the-head “THIS IS THE FIRST SONG ON THE ALBUM” attack.  “Colony Collapse” starts quietly as well, gradually expanding into an oh-so-satisfying, if ever so brief, rock epiphany before trickling away to nothing, Wright’s voice echoing alone in the distance at the end.

It’s only on the third track that the band decides to let you in on the fact that they can bring the groove, with the four-on-the-floor beats, repeating hooks, and synthy goodness of “Matchbox.”  Of course, just when you think “Matchbox” is over, after a deliciously pop-perfect three minutes, the band tears everything down and slowly rebuilds it into a rousing anthem with joyous group vocals (“Shake shake, let’s shake together / We come alone and we communicate. / Shake shake, let’s break the borders / We come together, come together”).

Wesafari – Matchbox

And now that they’ve let you in on their pop genius, the band follows “Matchbox” up with the “radio mix” of their catchiest song ever, “Hiccup.” (The “original” version of the same song closes the album – longer, more nuanced and textured, I prefer it to this version, but they’re both excellent.)  With a chiming hook played on the MacArthur Harp that calls to mind African pop music without calling to mind Vampire Weekend, and intertwining, ecstatic vocals from everyone in the band, “Hiccup” would, in a just world, make this band a household name.  (Here’s hoping this is the last time I write about these guys on Blog of Wax due to their imminent media oversaturation.)

The rest of the album continues in this vein, continually surprising and delighting the listener and leaving him unsure what to expect next – not in an over-the-top “look at this wacky thing we did with this song” kind of way, but in a way that feels well-crafted, yet natural and inevitable; listen to these songs a few times, and you realize there is no other way they should go.  After 12 tracks perfectly balancing melody, harmony, dynamics, emotion, and execution, the sonic journey comes to a close: a soft acoustic guitar theme and hushed, contemplative vocals give way, after 4 minutes, to that infectious line from “Hiccup” yet again and build to its thrilling chorus, this time with another giant group singalong.  The chorus carries you along in its arms like one of Maurice Sendak’s (or Spike Jonze’s) Wild Things, branches ripping at your face and wind in your hair, but emerges from the woods and lays you down safely on the beach.  As you look out and wave to the band floating away out to sea, you realize there really is nothing else to do but go back to the beginning and listen again.