REVIEW: The Drift - Blue Hour

The Drift - Blue Hour
MMM1/2

Love is, arguably, the biggest inspiration for most music, past and present. There’s an inexplicable power in love that can influence, or touch, even the coldest of hearts and minds. Death also happens to be quite the catalyst when it comes to music, hanging overhead like a cloud that refuses to go away. When love and death cross paths, the ensuing inspiration draws out something especially moving. Blue Hour is a perfect example of this intersection.

In January 2011, San Francisco-quartet The Drift lost their trumpet player Jeff Jacobs after he succumbed to a long, tough battle with cancer. The impact of his passing is felt throughout Blue Hour, a haunting, melodic beauty of an instrumental rock album. It’s capacious, meditative in nature, with guitarist/keys player Danny Paul Grody, bassist Trevor Montgomery, and drummer Rich Douthit uniting to work and build particular grooves and riffs through calculated repetition, as if meditating with sound. Their looming instrumentals display a patience and fortitude, walking a line between melancholia and euphoria.

Bassist Trevor Montgomery is the anchor of The Drift, providing an uncompromising foundation of rhythm for his bandmates to work off of. Drummer Rich Douthit is consistent and sharp, playing with a focused, Motorik sense of steady pacing. Guitarist Danny Paul Grody, I would argue, should be considered a sonic collagist, rather than just simply a guitarist; he finds ways to create controlled chaos that manages to bear bright and dark melodies. “Dark Passage” starts soft but fills up with the delay-heavy traffic of Grody’s guitar work. “Horizon” is Blue Hour’s most immediate song, fueled by a heavy, propulsive riff from Montgomery’s bass, distinguished by Grody’s air raid siren dissonance and Douthit’s determined pounding. “The Skull Hand Smiles / May You Fare Well” is a delicate, spacey lullaby that transforms as it begins to unravel from the spindle of Montgomery’s 1-2 bass riff, gradually growing higher and higher towards the sky until it blooms into a vibrant flower of sound.

But for however moving and honed Blue Hour might be, it still lacks a bit of an edge. The songs effectively set compelling moods, but they never venture far from where they began, causing certain moments to feel as though the music lacks a sense of adventure. At times, the pacing and arrangements are a bit too straightforward, keeping things somewhat grounded. The band’s extenuation of certain riffs and phrasings is undoubtedly key in producing the album’s meditative aura, but it can also subtract from any immediacy or surprises that might be – or could have been – planted within each song.

The Drift’s sound has evolved in the wake of Jacobs’ death, and, even if he wasn’t around to write music with the remaining members, you can tell his spirit is a big influence here. The emotional resonance of records like Blue Hour is something that can strengthen a listener’s connection to the music, making the sound a lot more personal and warm. Blue Hour is an emotionally descriptive and emotionally detailed record without feeling overbearing. It says more with its aurora borealis of sound than it ever could with the utterance of a single word. It might be a Blue Hour, but The Drift inspire, sounding hopeful and proving that love can rise to lift the shade of death.

Blue Hour is out today on Temporary Residence.