The Once
Album: Departures
Label: Nettwerk
Tracks: 10
Website: http://www.theonce.ca

The Once is a Newfoundland-based trio (Geraldine Hollett, Phil Churchill and Andrew Dale) who arrived on the scene in a fairly low-key manner back in 2009, since which time they've been amassing successive Canadian Folk Music Awards and making a generous good name for themselves in the wider musical world. Their third album, Departures, is literally well-named, for not only did its release late last autumn herald a major UK touring presence (opening for Passenger, no less) but also something of a musical departure, mainly in that the trio's compact, strong and stylish acoustic-based sound is to quite an extent being left behind with altogether fuller musical arrangements employing a significantly larger cast of supporting musicians. Even after living with this new album for a few months now, I'm still undecided about my reaction, the impact and outcome. And that's not like me.

Now it's cards on the table time here: I really got to liking The Once after getting to know album number two (the lengthily titled Row Upon Row Of The People They Know, a tag-line from the anthemic Song For Memory that furnishes the album with its wholly suitable finale) for its generously upbeat vibe and infectiously animated approach, its (mostly) transparent, fresh, lean textures and pleasingly spirited takes on traditional material and covers. So to my mind Departures at first felt more than a touch overloaded, and the initial playthrough generated not a little disappointment that the intrinsic clarity I'd so admired on the band's previous records had been subjugated to what seemed like a conscious desire to pitch the songs onto a bigger sound-stage than they ideally needed. Even the songs themselves - all but three of the ten tracks being credited as group compositions (and one of those a co-write) - didn't at that point seem to strike home to me in the way that comparable offerings on previous albums had. Checking the trio's website, I get the message from Phil Churchill himself that the new album is "for new people", ostensibly presuming to draw the distinction from their "old" fanbase; but that shouldn't mean alienating or distancing from them, and I'm still not always entirely convinced by the all-embracing blowsier sound that adorns a significant number of Departures' tracks. Indeed, the only track that really did it for me first time round was the gorgeous, highly accomplished a cappella treatment of Sonny's Dream that closes the disc (now there's a hair-on-the-back-of-the-neck moment!). Having said that, there's no complaints I could possibly level against the continued front-stage presence of Geraldine's magnificent voice, or the ever-intelligent use of Andrew and Phil's multi-instrumental skills, those integral elements of The Once's armoury that remain gloriously intact on this new offering.

But then… accepting that no good band can afford to stand still musically and artistically, setting the disc on cyclic replay has since proved to be the best move in terms of getting to appreciate the daring musical adventures encased within. Opener The Town Where You Lived turns out on closer inspection to be an affectionate tribute to Phil's father, and has a wistful, almost Forever-Changes feel to its sensitive horn arrangement, while the elegiac All The Hours makes good use of an autumnal string section to offset its rippling banjo base and Into Your Life can be judged a classy latter-day country-waltzer by any standards, for all that it over-eggs the soulful brass choir in its latter stages. The tenderly regretful Fool For You proves a real standout cut, up there with the finest of The Once's earlier songs, and (backbeat aside) sports a lovely, restrained mando-friendly setting until it moves up a gear for the key change and blazes forth with an authentic sunshine-pop aura and attendant fulsome vocal harmonies. At track 7, however, the disc takes a curveball course with an imaginatively contoured chameleon cover of the old Elvis hit Can't Help Falling In Love, following which the pithy Standing At Your Door, with its scratchy shufflings and boxy vocal effects, tries too hard to be weird. Then comes the disc's would-be-epic opus, The Nameless Murderess, the aforementioned co-write involving actor Jody Richardson, which conjures a theatrical, menacing slice of cabaret-drama full of satanic brassy swagger that's superbly managed (with an especially convincing portrayal of the protagonist by Geraldine) but isn't exactly comfortable listening; it does rather stick out like a sore thumb - I think you really need to be in the right receptive mood to really "get" this one. Oh, and it would've been nice to have included the lyrics in the intensely attractive package.

So, here's a case of coping with, then assimilating, the shock of the new, where The Once most definitely becomes The Now and subsequently begs the question of what might constitute The Future. In which context, it's interesting to learn (again from the trio's website) that the band's name itself derives from an old Newfoundland expression meaning "right away" or "imminently". So it's worth persevering.

David Kidman