Horse Feathers

Justin Ringle’s three-piece Portland, Ore., outfit Horse Feathers is comparable to any number of indie-folk acts. You know the ones, with a penchant for enigmatic lyrics sung in hushed whispers, which would otherwise spiral downward if not for being lifted by those elegiac strings.

The aesthetic made Sam Beam one of the more famous modern-day long-beards from the West Coast, but Ringle has suffered somewhat after being inevitably reduced by critics to a mere Iron & Wine lite.

Horse Feathers’ 2006 debut, Words Are Dead, was more amber, though, than ale. Only Beam’s “Naked As We Came” and “Love and Some Verses” can rival Words’ “Finch on Saturday” and “Falling Through the Roof” in their rich intimacy and profound spirit.

For the follow-up, House With No Home, Ringle, unlike Beam, who went mostly sans acoustic for 2007’s critical darling The Shepherd’s Dog, remains rustic and just about as naked as he came.

The album, a debut release on Kill Rock Stars, could’ve done without liner notes; the frontman’s vocals are an instrument rather than a tool for communication. Opener “Curs in the Weeds” is a cornerstone, a stark milieu of violins cascading and receding to a swell as Ringle ruminates eerily among them. Next up, “Rude to Rile,” plays less dense and more like a ditty than “Curs,” but remains just as captivating with its pleasant harmonies and soaring chorus.

These two songs display precisely the type of stark contrast — from dark to light, from airy as an autumn breeze to heavy as a down comforter in winter — that sets House With No Home apart. Yet this divergence is also what keeps the album less accessible, more prone to longevity than immediacy.
Which, by the way, is the mark of an exceptional album. (LaRue Cook)