Checking in with the critical acclaim of today…
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[6.33]
Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: At their best, Big Thief’s songs sound like incantations that run on memory, using looping structures and riffs to achieve symbolic power that goes beyond the simple cores that Adrianne Lenker writes. “Cattails” finds Big Thief deep in their own territory, sounding (like many of the songs on U.F.O.F.) like an organic expansion on Lenker’s solo material. It’s insular yet welcoming, a cascade of acoustic guitars that doesn’t quite resolve but instead ends on a question mark, leading you further down into Big Thief’s wilderness.
[8]
Alfred Soto: Over an elastic acoustic riff with which Lori McKenna could have launched a dozen songs, Adrienne Lenker lingers over the sensual possibilities of vowels. I found “Cattails” a well-wrought irritation at worst; by the third play, I understood that “the empty space is a saving grace.”
[7]
Crystal Leww: Well, we did once let Fleet Foxes cook, I guess.
[3]
Ian Mathers: It’s fascinating how close to the line between hypnosis and tedium this treads. What breaks it free on the right side of the line, for me, isn’t even the more obvious sonic changes towards the end (although those are also well done, if not as sharp as similar transformations you can find in, say, Sam Amidon’s work); there’s something about the guitar line and those basic drums and of course Lenker’s steady narrative that becomes spellbinding, no less because it feels like it easily could have gone the other way.
[7]
Katherine St Asaph: Two things elevate this from tedious meandering folk: Adrianne Lenker’s voice, which has a tentative spikiness like the midpoint of Emmylou Harris and Kristin Hersh; and the past 30 seconds or so when the arrangement finally decides to go somewhere, including a wonderful piano flurry in one speaker. But it happens too late, and doesn’t build high or long enough.
[6]
Joshua Minsoo Kim: The older I get, the more I find myself doing the responsible Adult thing and turning off records that exacerbate any depressive behaviors. U.F.O.F. turned out to be one such album, and it accomplishes this feat in a way that many folk records–be they in the 21st century indie mold or not–often do. “Cattails” has a jaunting beat, but its upbeat nature is incredibly subdued. The result: an almost-forgettable song that can sit unceremoniously in the background while one does other tasks. It captures the realistic, undramatized nature of living with depression as an adult. “You don’t need to know why, when you cry,” sings Adrianne Lenker, her voice comforting in its raspiness. As she sings, the song feigns a sense of movement; when a swirl of piano notes close out the song, they’re less an actual musical development than a little flourish: a celebration of having survived another day, even if one feels like they haven’t progressed in any way.
[7]