The Most Serene Republic

What a title. Only the Most Serene Republic, the Milton, Ontario-based sextet most famous for being the Robin to Broken Social Scene’s Batman, could have dreamt up a phrase as simultaneously polarizing and fascinating. Fantasick Impossibliss the album, meanwhile, is equally polarizing and fascinating, offering up a pummeling 26 minutes of frenzied indie prog that actually earns the title.

If you’re already a fan, the description is old news. The Most Serene Republic are seasoned, with three full-lengths and one criminally overlooked EP (2006’s stellar tour-only Phages) under their belts. However, Fantasick is a jolt, even to the acquainted. Here, a raw, powerful full-band attack dominates, stepping back from the kaleidoscopic chamber pop of last year’s David Newfeld-produced ...And the Ever Expanding Universe.

That album found the band trying their hand at accessibility…well, their definition of it, at least, downplaying the layered instrumental ferocity of 2007’s layered prog behemoth Population in favor of a more laid-back feel that, for once, actually merited the Broken Social Scene comparisons. They even delivered a full-fledged, if still warped, pop song with the banjo-driven “Heavens to Purgatory”. After the release of Universe, vocalist/guitarist Emma Ditchburn left the band, and the game of musical drum chairs was abandoned with the addition of percussionist Adam Balsam.

The intensity of Fantasick could be viewed as a reaction to the quiet rumblings of Universe, an explosion of the tension built up on that album. Maybe it could be attributed to the fact that the band is made up of just dudes now. Whatever the reason, Fantasick finds the Most Serene Republic back doing what they do best: creating heady, majestic, instrumentally and emotionally complex workouts that are as muscular as they are intelligent.

With “Jelly Chamber”, the band sets a new peak, with vocalist/trombonist Adrian Jewett reaching skyward, reflecting on birth and sex (“Could it be remembered? / the time in jelly chamber / if recalled hard enough / years are spent to discover that feel!”) over a tsunami of percussion, thick bass, and strings. Not only one of the Most Serene Republic’s best tracks, it’s one of the most exciting and devastating things you’ll hear all year.

Elsewhere, the band offers a singalong satire of drunk culture (“Pink Noise”), some more spooky-great prog (“Comeuppance”, “The Ache of Goon”), and “The Church of Acorns”, which features the line, “Where are all the squirrels that die of natural causes? / do they hold service in the church of acorns?” Some will still find Jewett’s observations impenetrable. For the likeminded, it’s one-of-a-kind stuff that’ll keep you glued to the speakers, pining and analyzing the unusual details. Ditto the music.

By the time the title track ends the set with a suffocating six minutes of Radiohead-inflected space jazz (check out Jewett channeling Thom Yorke’s claustrophobia via “The National Anthem”), you’ll be too head-spun to notice that maybe it goes on a couple minutes more than it needs to. This is prog, anyway, remember? And this is only a warm-up. They’re currently working on a full-length sequel. If Fantasick Impossibliss is any indication, it’s sure to be pretty spectacular. For now, they’ll have to settle for one of the year’s best releases, regardless of length. - Popmatters

After an overstuffed, unfocused sophomore LP, Toronto prog-pop act The Most Serene Republic recaptures the promise of its debut on album number three, …And The Ever Expanding Universe. Bandleader Adrian Jewett tones down the six-songs-crammed-into-one excesses of his band’s earlier work and follows a more restrained, natural flow, without losing any of the swells of synths, electronic percussion, strings, and bells that give Most Serene Republic songs their vitality. The Ever Expanding Universe’s more direct approach often verges on indie pudding, that flavorless mush of wispy vocals, pretty melodies, ornate instrumentation, and calculated abrasion that so many young bands whip up and spoon out. But with songs like “Patternicity”—a full orchestral instrumental in the Beach Boys/Moody Blues mold—The Most Serene Republic displays a commitment to acknowledging and expanding on its influences. By the time Universe arrives at its final track, the lovely, explosive “No One Likes A Nihilist,” the band has rushed through a set of songs that rocket from clarity to clutter and back again, demonstrating how both can be strangely calming. - The Onion AV Club

So, the moral of the story? You like the one band, well, you'll probably like the other. That's how comparisons go isn't it. We give you a huge list of influences until you yell out "Bingo! Oooh, I like them!" and then think, "Hmm, Band B sound pretty good because I do like Band A". The deal's the same here, only we're only giving you one band name. In the interests of the rock-dwellers who're unaware of BSS though, we dedicate to you the rest of the review.

You can take advantage of the free-of-charge MP3 for track two "Heavens to Purgatory" and play along for this one. Starting with the familiar world-weary guitar slashings and the ubiquitous 'need my asthma inhaler' indie-folk vocals. Swiftly, you find yourself in polyphonic-cymbal territory as they furiously decorate the outer-limits of the song. You'll know by now that the almost-funky bass-drum stomps are mere seconds away. High-pitched singing, vocal-harmonies, eclectic instruments and explosive walls-of-noise for a chorus follow. Are you sure you haven't heard of Broken Social Scene? It'd really make our job easier.

There are less pop-orientated contributions on the album also. "Patternicity" almost borders on self-indulgent, there's almost six minutes of it, it does actually sound like the soundtrack to a Tom and Jerry cartoon. For the vast majority of our time together though, The Ever-Expanding Universe is a diverse, dynamic and engaging ride which continually thrills with its bizarre logic and compelling lyricism. Behind every song title, every line lies a literary or filmic reference which when unearthed sheds new light upon the album's deeper meaning.

Good times for those who like to do their homework, or for those who like Broken Social Scene. - Strange Glue

Milton, Ont.'s The Most Serene Republic continue their streak of wonderful, proggy indie rock on their third full length.

The ever-evolving unit have tightened their space jams and created a brilliantly unique record and takes them out of the shadow of their heavy-weight Arts & Crafts label mates.

The septet borrow from just about every genre possible, like marrying banjo and acoustic guitar with disco break drums on the excellent "Heavens To Purgatory" while Adrian Jewett and Emma Ditchburn trade vocals at break neck speeds.

Elsewhere, the hazy vibe and heavy bottom end on "Phi" are reminiscent of some of Broken Social Scene's best work, no doubt due to the efforts of BSS producer/collaborator Dave Newfeld behind the boards.

With so many elements come at your ears, ...And the Ever Expanding Universe offers more and more with each listen. Luckily, the band has the pop chops to pull you in. - Chart Attack

Content Was Always Their Favorite Colour

“We’ve never tried this before,” one of the band members noted, soon picking up his acoustic guitar and gathering around a small fire pit outside of Kilby Court. The Most Serene Republic had just finished playing a show at the small venue just a few minutes prior, promoting their then-current album Population. It was December of 2007, the band in jackets and wool caps post-show, and due to one audience member’s suggestion, the group was now gathered around the long-since dormant fire hole, and with no preparation whatsoever, vocalists Adrian Jewett and Emma Ditchburn began singing “Proposition 61” in the cold winter air, the acoustic strums ringing in the stifled air and adding to what could only be described as an absolutely magical moment.

What seemed odd, however, was that the band hadn’t tried something like that before. In 2005, the Most Serene Republic got a bit of press for being the first act signed to the Canadian Arts & Crafts record label that had absolutely nothing to do with indie-rock supergroup Broken Social Scene or its various off-shoots. Their debut disc, Underwater Cinematographer, was an exciting mixture of thumping techno beats, indie-rock aesthetics, and lounge-y acoustic numbers peppered with a couple group shout-a-longs just for good measure. It was a fascinating little album, but things got a bit jumbled with their 2007 follow-up. Populations wasn’t a bad record by any means, but by abandoning electronic instruments almost entirely, the group wound up homogenizing their sound somewhat, resulting in an organic-sounding album that blurred together when played straight through, songs barely distinguishing themselves from each other. It was a damn shame too, because in listening to “Humble Peasants” or lead single “The Men Who Live Upstairs” as standalone tracks, they turned out to be stunning, multi-tiered pop songs that did nothing short of shimmer, that magic mysteriously getting lost in the full-length format.

So, much like that impromptu acoustic set around a fire pit, the band is now doing something they’ve never tired before: recording with an outside producer.

At first, this may not seem like a big deal, but given that their two full-lengths (along with their admirable 2006 Phages EP) were produced by the band’s keyboardist Ryan Lenssen, it seemed that some outside perspective would give the band a bit of a reboot to their sound—and that’s exactly what’s happened. By bringing in Arts & Crafts’ resident superproducer Dave Newfeld (Broken Social Scene, Los Campesinos!), the group has now expanded their sonic palette, unafraid to bring back the dance beats of their debut album while at the same time holding on to the more rustic, organic textures of Populations, making what may arguably be their first record to best encapsulate “that MSR sound”.

... And the Ever Expanding Universe opens with “Bubble Reputation”, a spirited piano number that wouldn’t sound too out of place on Population, and, sadly, makes for a relatively average melodic pace car, as it simply cycles through many of the tropes that the MSR have used before. When things move on to “Heavens to Purgatory”, however, thumping back beats begin mixing with sliding acoustic guitars, a cacophony of handclaps, and—by tracks’ end—a choir of looped voices all saying different things. And yes, that’s Jewett and Ditchburn softly cooing out the words “gadzooks” over and over again. “Purgatory” shows that the group has not only found their groove, but along the way, they’ve developed a sense of humor, and since they’re not taking themselves as seriously as they have before, their words, vocals, and performances all sound a bit more open and free, making for an intensely enjoyable listening experience.

The group rarely, rarely adheres to a traditional verse-chorus-verse structure, which by itself will still loan the band to comparisons to Broken Social Scene whether they like it or not. Hell, “Phi” sounds like exactly what you think of when you hear the phrase “Broken Social Scene Jr.”, even as it deviates from the BSS formula by throwing in beatbox vocals and monstrously huge fuzz-guitar licks during the half-way point. “The Old Forever New Things” threatens to veer off in that same territory before it saves itself with its intricate bass work and Eastern-tinged acoustic accents—these seemingly separate elements never once sounding out of place in the context of the album. Much like Underwater Cinematographer, there are many exciting aural left turns to be found, as no song ever stays in place for too long. When the group finally does decide to settle down and deliver an echo-laced piano ballad (“All of One is the Other”), it feels like we’re being granted a break period, our hearts allowed to stop racing while the group collects their things to get ready for round two.

As good as Universe‘s first half is, though, it’s the second act that positively destroys our preconception as to what the Most Serene Republic is capable of. “Patternicity” is a five-minute instrumental wherein the group decides to go the orchestral route, bringing in flutes, horns, and string sections to craft their very own pocket-symphony that would be completely at home during the closing credits of some period Oscar-bait drama. No, really: what happened to the Most Serene Republic of past?

Yet the surprises don’t stop there. “Four Humors” is a sweetly low-key dance-rock track (as oxymoronic as that sounds) that’s as excitable as it is lovely, and “Catharsis Boo” comes off as an Interpol song that’s anchored by the notable addition of some female vocal choirs, their voices cascading over the syncopated drum hits. Then, just because the band hasn’t done enough crazy things already, they launch into “Don’t Hold Back, Feel a Little Longer”, where they finally succumb to calling of the pure pop song, 80s synth keyboards soon clashing with Adam Balsam’s furious drum patterns while the group pretty much sits down and watches their creation fight itself in a whirlwind of upbeat tempos and colored guitar textures. The group has never done a song as furious, uncompromising, or overcaffinated as this one, and following the (now) dry-by-comparison Population, this is a welcome change indeed.

The Most Serene Republic’s ... And the Ever Expanding Universe isn’t going to win any Album of the Year accolades, however. It isn’t an album that makes any grand statements (largely due to Jewett’s occasionally unintelligible lyrics), nor is it going to generate a huge cross-over radio staple (though it would be funny to hear “Don’t Hold Back” positively destroy everything else on the radio dial in terms of sheer tempo). Universe isn’t designed to do any of those things. Instead, Universe is what it is: a fun, catchy, constantly-shifting indie rock album that shows a young band finally discovering their collective voice and having the time of their lives celebrating that revelation. “We’ve never tried this before” they noted before they did that impromptu acoustic session around the fire pit; now they’re trying things they never thought they were even capable of two years ago, and as a result of that boundary-pushing, they’ve just made the best album of their careers. - Popmatters

I dunno. You let the kids rifle through your old prog-rock records and they come back from a Broken Social Scene-echoing debut with a sophomore (allow it, leave it) that’s all flippin’ Emerson Lake & Palmer over Polyphonic Spree bonkers, the sort of album you know Guillemots desperately wanted to write for their second long-player but simply didn’t have the depth and breadth of musical experience in their souls to pull off. It’s eccentric without ever seeming cloying, skittery like tail-chasing kittens on ice and as brilliantly aggrandizing terms of stylistic scope as is possible, without its makers ultimately collapsing in the studio and the whole thing falling into the subsequent black hole.

But, The Most Serene Republic haven’t forgotten the pop to balance their more out-there tendencies on Population, the follow-up to 2006’s recommended debut Underwater Cinematographer (review). And it’s important that they do realise when to rein in their extravagancies, simplifying the cacophony into a crystal-clear clarion call of ambitious intent. Additionally, the sextet incorporate a greater jazz atmosphere here than was evident on their debut, with the instrumental ‘A Mix Of Sun And Cloud’ one part daytime soap opera theme tune, several parts space-age down-tempo jazz a la Air with an expanded palette. It’s one of many shifts in direction across these 13 tracks – if you came for seamless cohesion, best turn back now.

What I’m alluding to, then, is that Population is another muddled and jumbled bag of cross-genre influences, yet while the Ontario band’s first long-player occasionally tap-danced its way into rather-too-odd territories, baroque twists and dizzying diversions within too short a space of time repelling as many as were attracted, this album’s a more refined offering. Clearly the band have studied the minor mistakes of its predecessor and set out to eradicate them, and they’ve almost completely succeeded. It’s rare, indeed, that the listener feels the need to skip any of these harmonious multi-vocal workouts, these genuinely original compositions that stretch their makers’ creative limits while never alienating their established fan-base.

It’s odd, then, that The Most Serene Republic’s Ryan Lenssen (keys, and producer here) has referred to Population as the band’s “anti-record, the one in between that celebrates the negatives of everything”; odd, because it’s hard to filter the moroseness from the merriment. A scan of the lyric sheet provides clues – there’s ache in the words of ‘Sherry and her Butterfly Net’, and the title of ‘Solipsism Millionaires’ as good as speaks for itself – and there’s plenty of melancholy in another instrumental offering, ‘Agenbite of Inwit’, but the whole is always more overpowering than the constituent pieces, and said whole is almost entirely gleeful. From the spirits-lifting gang vocals to the playful instrumentation that never leans too heavily on the work of that first sentence act of parallel reference, Population is an album almost impossible to not fall for; it’s a record rich in longevity, in essential extravagances that really do comprise a cure for the sound-alike band blues.

If Guillemots’ Red is your record of the year thus far, you’re strongly urged to make this album your next purchase – it’s not just a better album, treading a comparable line in many cooks/single broth dynamics, but one that could well prove to be one of the year’s very best come December. It’s more expressive of emotions, of heartfelt sentiments, than Broken Social Scene’s self-titled, and more sensible than the proggy overloading of Brain Salad Surgery and similarly (although perhaps wrongly) derided titles of its ilk. It’s a middle of the road album (and the middle of three, it seems; the band-proclaimed Empire Strikes Back of TMSR's trilogy), but the road’s someplace you’ve never been before, and where it winds up…?

Doesn’t matter. All you need know is that you’ll feel fantastic when the end’s in sight. - Drownd In Sound

This orchestral art-pop sextet from the Toronto suburbs up the triumphant racket on their second album, sounding as if labelmates Broken Social Scene recruited Polyphonic Spree's Tim DeLaughter and his giddy cohorts to sing and shout along. Except for one capable foray into cool jazz ("A Mix of Sun and Clouds") and one somnambulant string interlude ("Agenbite of Inwit"), these tracks are more concerned with mass than melody. Barely-there intros rise into warm, weighty epics, cluttered impressively with a clamoring assortment of keyboards, rallying horns, whispering reverb, and other (sometimes literal) bells and whistles. - Spin