The Young Republic

"An offering of Dickensian dimensions."
by Michael Quinn

Album number two from The Young Republic comes hot on the heels of the summer’s Recession Special EP and sees the Tennessee six-piece surviving a change of drummer in late 2008.

Balletesque pirouettes with an almost nonchalant ease through shadow-cast, menace-edged tales of errant salesmen, bootleggers, preachers, outlaws and assorted misfits, all of whom are brought to flesh-and-blood life against a pointedly assembled backdrop of musical references.

Dotted with jazz-like details and classically-accented interludes – the overture-like Introduction; the operatic intensity of Tidal Wave; the razor-edged violin in The Alchemist – it’s an offering of Dickensian dimensions, richly populated, ripely moral and redolently delineated in Julian Saporiti’s lyrical, narrative-driven novellas-in-song.

As skilfully stitched together as 2008’s 12 Tales From Winter City, this new offering is no less smoothly executed although the edges are deliberately rougher – Rose Parade’s stabbing percussion and slicing guitar chords; the take-no-prisoners assault of the title track – and, in the deceptively languid Autumns in the Trees, also noticeably rawer.

Embracing old and new influences – from Dylan and late, Lennon-led Beatles to Pixies and Arcade Fire, with The Wolf conjuring up the sort of combustible commotion you might expect from The Raconteurs – The Young Republic’s subtle borrowings and hidden homages play out against a larger, intricately designed canvas that makes significant claims for a band whose time has come.