headlessparrot's Full Review: Bee Hives [Digipak] by Broken Social Scene
Music is, as we all know, possibly the most subjective of all of popular art forms. The music I enjoy is - I assume - the direct result of quantities of certain chemicals in my brain and my own perceived knowledge of what music should be. Consequently, then, you may loathe the bands and the songs that I like, and vice versa. And one of the problems presented by the subjectivity of our musical world is that it’s hard to break connections with or criticize a band that, in the pace, you once subjectively viewed as great. Furthermore, past expectations of a band you once loved can leave you forever disappointed with their next work.
That is (sort of) the problem facing Bee Hives, a collection of b-sides, outtakes, U.K.-only tracks and early recordings by Broken Social Scene. While it’s hardly the worst release of this year - and is in fact far superior to some of the stuff I’ve been subjected to - it ultimately fails to deliver, if only because its predecessor was easily one of the greatest records of the past five years. The fact that You Forgot It In People was so good makes Bee Hives essentially feel like a disappointment, the highest mountain ranges followed by the dullest plains. It’s still difficult even when you consider that Bee Hives is an anthology of (hey, it rhymes!) b-sides and is not at all intended to have the connected, grand qualities of its clearly more legitimate brother. But however average this compilation may be, it’s still difficult to criticize the band or its works in any way because of my allegiance to them - based, of course, on my subjective impression of what they did two years ago. However my loyalties lie, what it comes down to is that Bee Hives, while certainly a fascinating album (especially for already-fans who want perspective on the group) and the home of a few quality cuts, just fails to send the message of pop authority that You Forgot It In People has. Then again, with b-sides collections, overall quality is very often not the real focal point as much as perspective or (dare I say) profit are.
For those unfamiliar, Broken Social Scene are a Toronto-based “collective” of relatively well-known indie and mainstream musicians, formed by Kevin Drew (of K.C. Accidental) and Brendan Canning (By Divine Right) in 1999 and initially conceived as a recording duo. The pair released their debut Feel Good Lost in 2001 to mild critical response and nearly non-existent sales. The sonically experimental album was somewhere between pop and rock, but unique enough to inspire a small following, which blossomed along with the band. James Shaw, Charles Spearin (Do Make Say Think), Evan Cranley (Stars) and Emily Haines (Metric) joined before the recording of their sophomore release. And at some point or another, Broken Social Scene became not a group of six members, but a semi-permanent rotation of eleven artists (plus guests) focussed on pop perfection. 2002’s You Forgot It In People went a long way to that end; it was perhaps the most eclectic, powerfully beautiful and just downright catchy piece of experimental pop music in the recent past. Towing the line between musical styles, You Forgot It In People was a massive critical success - “perfect pop album” was a term popping up with some regularity - and it hasn’t done too bad in terms of sales, either. Re-released just last year in the United States, the band and their body of work has been at the centre of an indie music renaissance - an experimental-pop revival, I suppose.
And that’s where Bee Hives enters the picture, in what I deem a thinly veiled attempt at capitalizing on the success of the band’s sophomore album. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing - too some, mainly me, any BSS is good BSS. And as far as filler goes, Bee Hives is just about the best that can be expected. Neither remarkable nor abysmal, it is content to flirt with mediocrity, save for a few moments here and there which reveal the true value of the band and that no, You Forgot It In People was not a fluke.
As far as sound goes, Bee Hives is basically what you would expect; the collection of songs here are generally like those that you’ve already heard. It’s a good overview of the band’s sonic progression, save for one thing. Those who were only satisfied by the glossy pop gratification of People’s first side will be sorely disappointed, because the majority of songs here reflect the group’s more laidback and experimental aspect that dominated the its second half. It’s the same band, no doubt, but the music is far more subdued, with a tender, plaintive quality to it. Mostly instrumentals, these pieces are still intricately layered, with careful overdubs of guitar, keyboard, horns and string sections that give the album a baroque, ornate, thick texturing that you might dissect for hours. The instruments fade in and out, with each chord change and tonal change seemingly perfectly planned for maximum ambience. Which makes it a shame when you realize that, in spite of the careful structuring of the compositions, there’s really nothing to most of the album; it’s mood or background music, and little more. As far as background music goes, though, this is pretty pleasant in its ability to induce relaxation every time I listen to the gentle flow of sounds into one another. But again, that isn’t to say Bee Hives doesn’t have its highlights, because in-between the moments of instrumental background ambience are genuinely fascinating and engaging songs and song skeletons that pop up every so often.
Opening, appropriately enough, with 37 seconds of static-hum - or maybe more suitably, the circular, almost musical humming of bees - is an untitled number (although my PC reads it as The Obligatory Answering Machine Intro, an amusing play on the clichéd approach of unnamed bands - and interestingly, my PC also reads a number of songs as having different titles from the album sleeve), Bee Hives evolves quickly into the strummed acoustic guitar, the subtle background grain and the whisper-soft vocals of Market Fresh. An early highlight, the song picks up steam with the gradual entrance of a bass drum and a swirling, flanged effect taking over the tender lyrical performance, eventually descending into a few seconds of clipped words that fade to nothing. Weddings is an initially interesting instrumental composition, a skeletal frame of skittering audio samples that steadily take shape into a beat and subconscious melody - but at over seven minutes in length, the initially interesting idea doesn’t particularly hold up well.
hHallmark (Sunday In The Park) follows with a similar concoction of swirling instruments, weaving in and around one another, held together by hi-hat and cymbals. The song grows, and the layering grows thicker and thicker, but the composition never really does anything challenging with itself - it stays within a narrow mindset and fails to explore what could be a mesmerizing piece. Backyards, on the other hand, is Bee Hives' longest cut, and arguably also its best. Best described as a prequel to People’s Anthems For A Seventeen Year-Old Girl, it was originally recorded by the band as a university Arts project for member Emily Haines. Banjo is again present, and Haines’ voice is lightly shaded with effects, but the tempo is sped up and more traditional tools - guitar, bass and whooshing synths - accompany the two note progressions of the twang-y instrument. Lyrically vague, the idea seems to be revolve around death and the backyard - but like it’s sister-song, it’s so beautiful that you find yourself not really caring what it is about.
Da Da Da Da and Ambulance For The Ambience(Ohadjam) are next up, both lengthy atmosphere pieces recalling the previous explorations of psychedelic bands like Pink Floyd. The prior is interesting in that it contains what is obviously the first inklings of Almost Crimes - although the beat and the guitar structure have been placed in such a foreign setting that it’s captivating. And the latter is just a tinkling of piano keys under a swirling backdrop of horn and synths. Time=Cause reverses the title of one of People’s highlights for possibly Bee Hives' strangest composition. Arguably minimalist, the song’s vocals are drawn into the background, reverberating endlessly until nearly inaudible, while the string section undercuts the already haunting vibe of the song. And then the collection finishes with Lover’s Spit, an alternate version from that found on You Forgot It In People. The lush, dense instrumentation of the final version is replaced only by a shaded, ethereal piano part - and the Thom Yorke-like vocals of the album version are also removed in favour of Leslie Feist’s equally haunting, gentle yet gnawing performance of the cryptic lyrics.
When it’s all said and done, perhaps Bee Hives’ biggest problem - and it was the same thing that made You Forgot It In People so memorable - is the lack of cohesion between songs. We all know that it isn’t really an album, and you can feel that. As good as some of these songs are, there’s just no bridge between the materials. Aside from that - and the tendency towards ambience rather than concerted exploration - Bee Hives still holds up well; there’s no doubt that three or four songs save the collection from total mediocrity, but those are the same songs that make Bee Hives nearly worth the price of entry alone. And furthermore, as a whole, Bee Hives is a glimpse into the mindset of Broken Social Scene, proof that their work thus far was not a fluke, and - most of all - a deserving but underpowered companion to its older brother, You Forgot It In People. If you already own that record and are still interested in the group, Bee Hives is an excellent recording to pick up. If not, start there - and I’m sure that Bee Hives will come soon enough.
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