I have wanted to put pen to paper in reflection of what Midlake is doing for some time now.  The recent negative review from Pitchfork of their latest album, The Courage of Others, only served as an immediate cause for the genesis of this review.

by Kevin Roden, February 2010

There used to be the idea that the artist had something to say to his culture. Taking on a sort of prophetic role, the artist, as this old idea goes, rarely told us what we wanted, but rather offered us what was needed. Great art, therefore, demanded discipline, even an amount of asceticism upon those who encountered it. It doesn’t offer itself to be “understood”, but neither does it lack meaning – both of these are dangerous reductions, and both in their own ways give us what we want.

Midlake consistently blurs the line between folk and fine art and, as such, demands a listening that understands this. The place these two have in The Courage of Others only mirrors the place they have in our lives as humans – both are necessary. As a human, I need the natural rhythm and intentional simplicity of folk art in order to celebrate, rejoice, mourn, recreate and find a sort of commonality with all mankind. But I also need an opportunity for transcendence and the encouragement toward awe and wonder that is provided for us in fine art.

The fact that our culture has more space for the former tells us something about our anthropological outlook – it is how we tend to answer the question, what does it mean to be human? Our science has convinced us that the human is equivalent to the natural and that there is nothing to transcend. Even postmodernism in its reaction to this has failed to find a place for such transcendence, it has only put meaninglessness in its place in hopes of inspiring awe in the face of the resulting confusion.

In a recent interview, Tim Smith mentioned this tendency: “Things now are really geared toward having everything right there and having a good time. It’s all about pleasure and immediacy. It seems like some bands are really just trying to make people move.” The way to challenge this trend is by creating art out of a different anthropological outlook. The intentional blurring of the folk and the fine just may be Midlake’s way of giving us what we need: a way to put man back together again.

So when the critic hastily maintains that Courage “lacks a thesis to tie it all together,” he shows that his aesthetic interpretive tools are not up to the task. Like all indie music reviewers, he spends far too much time searching for musical influences and drawing comparisons. Little concern is given to the musical project as a possible candidate for real artistic vision. And the critic is not without excuse for this. Where depth is discovered in this genre, it rarely descends beyond the realm of contemporary politics or cliché and superficial critiques of religion, Republicans, and real estate developers.

So why does Midlake deserve a closer look? Beyond the standard comparisons to Radiohead, Flaming Lips, Fleetwood Mac, and now, old British folk there have been hints of inspiration throughout the Midlake corpus that make the careful listener dig deeper for other influences. From the beauties of classical composition in Some of Them are Superstitious, where the song’s shape and polyphony is hidden beneath the whimsy of the lyrics to the reference to a 19th century poem in Core of Nature, we seem to be asked by Smith to work a bit for our discoveries. The year 1891 is referenced in the Occupanther run away hit Roscoe. That just so happens to be the birth date of Sergei Prokofiev, arguably one of the most important composers of the 20th century and one of Smith’s favorites. If you caught one of their shows in support of that album when they were still running video clips behind the songs, you might have noticed scenes from the movie version of Thomas Hardy’s 19th century novel, Tess of the d’Urbervilles, originally published in that strange year of 1891. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 19th century philosopher, artist, poet, scientist, and playwright, who was described by Friedrich Schiller as the “ideal artist,” is quoted in Courage. Smith has even gone on record regarding this latest album, “It’s certainly inspired by classical music, Renaissance paintings and medieval artwork.” Simply looking to the likes of Pentangle and Fairport Convention will not suffice.

If I am right in pointing to the humanism of Courage, the anthropological outlook from which these songs spring, then it is on this theme that a thesis is to be found. What follows is merely a primer – a list of guiding questions – for the listener who hopes to engage this theme, “for those who have ears” (The Horn)…

What appears to be the reason(s)/cause(s) for human struggle among these songs?

The Limits of Human Knowledge: whether it’s talk of the “hidden ways” of creatures in “Acts of Man” or a discussion of our longing to know even that which “will never be known” in “Core of Nature”, this theme is pervasive. What is said about this topic throughout the album? Think about our society’s tendency to have certain knowledge – whether it’s the fundamentalist scientist or the fundamentalist Christian, both seem to be uncomfortable in the face of the unknown. Compare our longing with what seems to be our abilities in this area – what does this say?

Wonder: the other side of the previous theme. Spend some time with “Rulers, Ruling All Things” and notice the change in perspective from “Thinking the world was mind to lay hold of” to “Thinking the world was mine to be lost in”. What is being said through this transformation of perspective?

Fortune: A major theme throughout the early modern movement on until the 20th century when we supposedly conquered it… Also somewhat connected to the first two themes, the question of man’s place in this world where the possibility of circumstances beyond his control is ever at hand. The problem of our lack of control over fortune was pointed to as the motivation for pursuing the modern scientific project – “we can control our destiny” is what we have hoped for. “Long the rains have poured upon man”, the emphasis on seasons – all point back to a time when man concerned himself, even humbled himself, in light of that which he couldn’t conquer. Of course, fortune ought to be contrasted with the problem of the seemingly controllable “acts of man”. How do you make sense of all this?

Human Greatness: perhaps the most important topic for humans in the 21st century. As Nietzsche often noted, there are several factors that prevents greatness from developing among modern man – as he puts it, the artist, philosopher, and saint are rarities indeed. Democracy, evolutionary thought, and certain forms of Christianity all converge to produce the great weakening of modern man, the man who “in a dark room trembles alone”. From our historical vantage point, man’s attempt at greatness has had two very distinct results. On the one hand, we can observe the greatness of all that civilization has given us – architecture, cathedrals, cures, stable governments, grand art, and a litany of heroes. On the other hand, we have a series of 20th century examples of the pursuit of human greatness perverted to the tune of millions dead. The stark contrast of these two human possibilities should give us pause and provide an opportunity for reflection into the human root of both paths. In light of this, are we to “bring down all thoughts of greatness” or is there still room for it, if only properly pursued? This question is profoundly raised by this album. It might be interesting to compare the plight of the balloon maker in “He Tried to Escape” to the theme of “Bring Down” in the current album.

Despair or Love of Life? There is an overwhelming and perhaps dangerous tendency toward nihilism in this album, yet placed in a subtle dialectic with the “love of life”. This theme should be connected to the previous one – what is the response for us who have been awakened to the problems of modernity? Goethe and Thomas Hardy were aware of these problems and seemed to offer ways out – what about the vision of this album? The theme of retreat is ubiquitous: “let me inside”, “the joy has burned out and its gone”, “sound out nothing more, wait for all to end, in silence behold”, “in a dark room he trembles alone”. Contrasted with this, however, is the theme of love for life. The final song, it seems, gets the final word on this topic: “While the end remains unseen, let us play, let us sing… And she’ll try, mending all she can.” What is the ultimate answer, if any, provided by this album on the choice between these two possibilities?

It has always been clear that Smith’s lyrics have hearkened back to the life of earlier days. It is my argument that this throw back is meant to also point to the need of our culture to spend some time examining the thinking and vision of these earlier times – for perhaps the questions they raised are precisely the questions we need to be asking. Again, this is not what we want, but rather what we need.