Arriving in 2009,
Hospice
was the third album of graceful, often heartbreaking folk-flavored indie rock that Brooklyn songwriter
Peter Silberman
wielded under the
Antlers
moniker. The crushing, beautifully arranged concept album is delivered from the perspective of two central characters: an abusive bone cancer patient on her hospital death bed and a committed nurse who becomes attached and falls deeply in love, despite impending tragedy. Written over the course of two years by
Silberman
and then enhanced with additional tracks by
Darby Cicci
,
Michael Lerner
Justin Stivers
, and
Sharon Van Etten
, it's a woe-heavy record that could easily be crushed by its own weight, except for the fact that it's delivered with such ease. The narrative (completely written out in the liners) is gripping -- full of novelesque prose, reminiscent of
Lou Reed
's
Berlin
-- and the musical accompaniment complements
's lyrics perfectly. Music box melodies are sung in a wobbly falsetto over acoustic guitar and piano, as tinges of
Radiohead
(
Amnesiac
era) electro production add accents, waiting until the perfect moment to swell up to monumental crescendos full of keyboards, accordions, harmonicas, harps, and trumpets.
Arcade Fire
are an overt touchstone, as are
Neutral Milk Hotel
and
Cloud Cult
, but
's new composite proves itself a standout group among the many other lo-fi artists and chamber poppers, as well as a career-defining step up from the pleasant but nondescript feel of the two
albums that came before this. As a songwriter, he has matured into an artist with a masterful sense of dynamics, and he ebbs and flows from one chorus to the next as he multi-tracks sparse sections into grandiose ones. In the same balancing act,
tones down the album's deep personal sense of love and loss with occasional bits of dry humor. Morbid lines like "Some patients can't be saved, but that burden's not on you" are masked with uplifting music, and the morose moments are soon forgotten when the purposely less poignant line "All the while I'll know we're fucked and not getting unfucked soon" keeps the experience from becoming too much of a Hallmark tearjerker. Keep the tissue box handy, though -- the closer is a doozy. ~ Jason Lymangrover & Fred Thomas