After a middling but creatively heterogeneous four-album career, Reverend & The Makers deliver one of the year’s biggest surprises with their finest album yet.
Ideas have never been a problem for band-leader Jon McClure and his ragtag team of longtime collaborators, but on ‘Mirrors‘ the band display a keen sense purpose as they dip their feet into Nuggets-era psychedelia with rousing success.
‘Amsterdam’ opens the album with twirling circus bounce played on the organ. The smoldering groove on ‘Black Window’ sizzles with a reassured swagger as a dark chunky guitar riff compels the listener to head-bob along.
On previous releases, the “Reverend” had a tendency to preach with his subject matter, but on ‘Mirrors’ it seems McClure is more inclined to testify.
Never has the band commanded attention with such effortless authority. ‘…Window’ thus ranks as perhaps their finest moment yet.
Pairing up to create the album’s catchiest five minutes is the succinct baroque-pop of ‘Makin’ Babies’ and ‘Stuck On You’, the former a sweet-sour ballad that puckers with heartache, while the latter sways and stomps with a creeping sense of desperation. Elsewhere, the songwriting turns and shifts dynamic in tone and emotion. The meditative and haunting ‘Beach and The Sea’ serves as a chilling centerpiece for the album, and fuzzy guitars and sharp strings add a sly elegance to the drone blues of ‘My Mirror’, making for another standout.
‘Mirrors’ release coincides with a short-film of the same name. The film and record act as companion pieces, and the music is all the better for it. With its concise songwriting and focused aesthetic, the album plays like a soundtrack to a lost 60’s art-house film. The brisk length of most of the material spurs excitement as each song quickly sets and unfolds its particular scene, whilst uniformly progressing the album’s journey.
The southwestern skit of ‘El Cabrera’ gives a unique cinematic touch of tension by serving as an intermission from Side 1 to Side 2. ‘The Trip’ boosts the album with a jab of power-pop, whereas the country-tinged ‘Something To Remember’ sets the tone for the final sequence. Each song serves a purpose within the larger context of the album. The band’s unfortunate habit of being overly pastiche hasn’t completely faded however. ‘The Gun’ clumsily waltzes along in a lackluster Beatles-circa-67 psychedelia, while ‘Blue’ simply feels like a mediocre exercise in the blues.
The Rev and his musical congregation tend to their most potent music when they cater towards capturing a specific atmosphere, not a specific era. Sheffield’s roots and influence are captured on the chamber funk of ‘Mr. Glasshalfempty’ and the romantically lovelorn ‘Last To Know’, both reminiscent of McClure’s songwriting contemporary and collaborator Alex Turner – the subtle and fractured ‘Last To Know’ being especially notable.
By the time the credits come crawling in the slogging blues closer ‘Lay Me Down’, it’s clear McClure’s focused creative muse and execution has never been better.
Now a decade into their career, ‘Mirrors’ settles as Reverend & the Makers’ finest work to date, showcasing McClure’s artistic vision at its most pristine.
