Band of Horses: Running Wild

The much-anticipated release of Band of Horses’ third album, Infinite Arms, is still a month off, but the band has already settled into a promotional touring groove that will stretch well into the summer months. This Paris stop marks the beginning of a 10-day European run, after which the band returns to the U.S. to open a string of Midwestern and East Coast dates for Pearl Jam—a huge opportunity for Bridwell and company to expand their stable of fans. The Pearl Jam opening slot will be Band of Horses’ first time rocking stadium venues with dopey-sounding corporate monikers. Then: ‘Hello Cleveland!’ Now: ‘Hello Quicken Loans Arena!’

At roughly 11 weeks, this will also be the band’s longest stretch of non-stop touring to date. Bridwell is less than thrilled about being away from his wife and two-year-old daughter Annabelle for such a protracted period, but Infinite Arms has been almost three years in the making and anything less would, in his words, “do all that work injustice.”

The band’s last record, Cease to Begin, was released in 2007 by storied Seattle label Sub Pop, and debuted at #35 on the U.S. Billboard 200 chart, moving about 21,000 copies in its first week. If their triumphant showing at this year’s SXSW Music Festival—“Band of Horses killed it,” wrote fest correspondent David Carr on the New York Times website—is any indication, Infinite Arms could post even more impressive stats.

The band’s unabashedly grandiose, country-tinged rock has grown considerably tighter and more melodic over the years. Bridwell’s voice is the main attraction—its luminescent clarity and high-lonesome timbre evoke a choirboy in a ten-gallon hat. On the band’s 2006 debut, Everything All the Time, producer Phil Ek doused the vocals in My Morning Jacket’s trademark corn-silo reverb, lending them an elegiac vastness. Infinite Arms dials back the reverb just enough to warm up the sound, but not enough to bake out the ethereality.

Though Band of Horses’ early outings had a relatively narrow range—in his review of Cease To Begin, veteran rock critic Robert Christgau wryly noted, “In a year you’ll still remember most of these tunes, and you’ll still wish it didn’t take 34 minutes to get through 10 of them.”—it’s hard to imagine the same being said of Infinite Arms, which rambles with delightful unpredictability. Opener “Factory” teeters and sways like some anthemic junior-high slow dance, buoyed along by undulating string washes. Bridwell’s lyrics paint an ambiguous scene—an awkward confrontation in a hotel lobby between the narrator and a man in an elevator who, upon recognizing him, leaps out and decides “he better hike it to the second floor.” When pressed on the story behind the song, Bridwell says, “You can’t really tell, but it’s a highly personal and sad song. Like, to me, it’s incredibly sad, but I don’t give away exactly what it is.”

The guitar riffage underpinning “Laredo” crackles with the amp-melting euphoria of Neil Young & Crazy Horse. A silky-smooth vocal glides over the top, adding a summertime Top-40 shimmer.

Joy-starved, mole-rat hipsters whose most withering kiss-off is to call a record “safe” will spontaneously combust if exposed to Infinite Arms. You won’t find a single ragged edge jutting from these tunes. The album aspires to sound gorgeous, without apology. It’s no surprise that a large chunk of the vocals were recorded in sunny Los Angeles. You can’t listen to the balmy chorus harmonies of “Trudy” without recalling The Eagles and the 1960s Laurel Canyon folk scene.

The upbeat tunes sparkle like the polished hood of a ’69 Camaro weaving down the Pacific Coast Highway. Dig the guitar-pop ecstasy of “Dilly,” which echoes hook-crafting geniuses like Teenage Fanclub and the Pernice Brothers. The breakneck guitar churn of “Northwest Apartment” is a $450 speeding ticket waiting to happen. If you enjoy listening to music while driving, consider yourself warned. Ben Bridwell is a nice guy, but he will not defend you in court.