Album Review: Papercuts – Fading Parade

Jason Quever’s fourth record under the Papercuts name is his first on the legendary Sub Pop label (he’s still on Memphis Industries in the UK) and that step up to the ‘big-indies’ is suited perfectly to the newly focused, superbly evocative sound that Quever has shaped on this sometimes wonderful set of songs. A considerable move on from 2009’s You Can Have What You Wan’, this is a dreamy, misty set of melodic musings that become more and more thematically clear even as the music becomes hazier and foggier.

Admittedly it’s dark territory with tales of loss (‘I’ll See You Later’), of being lost (‘The Messenger’), of, yes, fading (‘White Are The Waves’) of a slowly disintegrating past (‘Marie Says You’ve Changed’) and of very definite endings (‘Winter Daze’). And while these themes dominate the ten tracks, it’s not an indulgent tale of woe by any means. It’s lucky for the listener that Quever approaches the material with such stoicism and melodic excellence – even the potentially heartbreaking album highlight ‘I’ll See You Later’ is made palatable by his whispered vocals and wondrous, chiming instrumentation. The song itself is the ultimate slacker break-up anthem – “Julia, shut the door, your things are on the floor, I’ll see you later I guess” mumbles Quever affectingly.

Stylistically we never stray too far from Galaxie 500 territory – beautifully recorded drums, 60s guitar sounds and plaintive vocals that rarely rise above a distant whisper. It works well for them, the Mairychain-isms of ‘Chills’ (which to these ears actually sounds a little like the New Zealand band The Chills themselves at times) counterbalanced by the piano-pretty ‘Winter Daze’ and the Dean-Wareham-waltz-pop of ‘Wait Til I’m Dead’ broaden the musical palate somewhat. They are all perfectly harnessed by Tom Monahan’s warm, welcoming production too, giving the record a cohesive, compelling feel.

These songs are beautiful – fragile, tender, yearning, filled with underlying melodies and lush harmonies that will keep you coming back for repeated listens. One suspects that any right thinking listener, if not won over sooner, will fall entirely in love when the second chorus of ‘Marie Says You’ve Changed’ arrives in all it’s sweeping, sad glory. This is a winter album, a lonely, lovely record that’s ready for you to befriend it, empathise with it, take pleasure from it and, above all else, admire it’s beauty.