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[4.00]
Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy: So by this point, you the Reader, have already made your mind up about Mumford and Sons. That’s fine. We all need strawmen to rage about every time that they pop up on the radio or on television or at awards shows that already function as strawman conventions. But Mumford and Sons are okay, and “Whispers in the Dark” showcases all their strengths — their songs are compact, their fluttery bombast admirable, their meat-and-potatoes rock effective. But “Whispers in the Dark” shows their biggest weakness, something that turns the band into strawmen: their flawed adherence to upholding traditional folk ideals. Marcus Mumford holds a needlessly frenetic approach to his mandolin playing and floor-stomping, causing a queasy disconnect between the measured radio-rock sound of “Whispers” and the homegrown factor that the folk elements are meant to signify. “Whispers” is (FAINT PRAISE ALERT) solid enough XFM rock, from the “under the sun” refrain to the swathes of Big Money Indie Rock Record Apollo Atmos Waves acting as background detailing, but it’s a failure when it comes to genre assimilation. Mumford and Sons: efficient rock band! Bad folk-indie-rock project.
[4]
Alfred Soto: The worst that can be said about these boys: they sound like an act named Mumford & Sons.
[4]
Katherine St Asaph: I’m as guilty as the next critic of kicking these guys around, mainly because “Mumford” is such an excellent punchline. (It’s the mumbly trochee; it sounds how it… sounds.) But the hatedom has long since become groupthink, a meme detached from the music and, at worst, an excuse to indulge an ugly anti-populist side — how can millions of sheeple be right? What they get out of Mumford & Sons, I imagine, is a little like what I get from Christine Fellows — rusticity at a remove — so I can’t claim trad-purist grounds; this earns a fair listen. Being fair, here, is hard. The strain in dude’s voice is crafted, like a Pier One crackle vase; the banjos are rousing in the telegraphed manner of action movie soundtracks. They’re both artifice — because what this really is, as the final minute and its sudden growl reveal, is post-grunge in suspenders. Which is even less of a defense, you might argue — but hey, post-grunge gets reappraised now. How sure would you be?
[5]
Iain Mew: Having really liked Mumford & Sons’ early single “Little Lion Man” makes me want to avoid being too quickly dismissive of them, as easy as it would be as they become unbearably omnipresent and rhyme “once” with “I blew my only chonce.” Marcus Mumford’s voice is frequently the most hateful thing about their songs, but listening to “Little Lion Man” again, its sandpaper quality was perfectly suited to that song’s bare self-laceration. It’s just when he turns it to philosophising over overstuffed attempts at beauty like “Whispers in the Dark” that it becomes unbearable.
[2]
Crystal Leww: I have a friend who plays in a folk band, and once I saw his band open for another folk/Americana band. This other band showed up dressed in t-shirts and jeans, but then changed to clothing that made them seem more “country.” The guys rolled up their skinny pants to reveal long socks and wore suspenders and silly hats, and the ladies changed into (I kid you not) full length dresses in the style of Little House on the Prairie. Their instruments were worn out, not for any audio reason, but because this band thought that visually it would earn them points with the crowd. Mumford & Sons would be the type of folk band who stomp all over their shirts to fray them and glue on fake beards because they think that’s what makes them a more authentic band. It’s not a matter of authenticity; the discussion over authenticity in music usually carries rockist undertones, but god, there is nothing about Mumford & Sons that feels genuine. Marcus Mumford sings “I’m a coward, but I’m not a fraud”, but the problem is that I do think they’re frauds. I don’t believe them for one moment, and it has nothing to do with their popularity or where they’re from and a lot to do with what they think the audience believes to be true. It makes me so angry that they are coming to Chicago this summer to put on fake beards and a (HUGE) show.
[0]
Anthony Easton: The split between people I know who listen to music casually but seriously and the people I know who listen to music professionally, rests of late on the Mumfords. I thought it was because of some weird Christian bias, but then I know a dozen or so people who genuinely love them who aren’t in the expected Jesus demographic. I haven’t quite figured out the hatred that comes from critics either — besides the Mumfords’ essential conservative nature, their working against more talented performers in the genre, some lingering problems with earnestness, the problems of nostalgia. The problems are legit, but not legit enough for the ire. I don’t like them, but I don’t hate them, and I am not really bored by them enough to dismiss them. But the split between listeners and professionals seems serious.
[6]
Brad Shoup: With all due respect to the Mumford question, I think the answer is pretty plain: it’s the banjo. The clawhammer attack, coupled with the Biblical gloss, is a tap-tap-tappin’ on our gag points. “Whispers in the Dark” is the Mumford version of a Chaucerian Asshole’s Tale, but they can’t escape the transformational urge: chance becomes the ahistorical “CHONCE”; “sun” becomes a veneniferous vomit for the ages. Marky Mumford could have been an ace screamo singer had some false prophet not spat into the beigest mud. Now, of course, he is cursed to roam from Grammy telecast to Grammy telecast, twiddling his banjo, preaching the Gospel of Good Enough.
[4]
Patrick St. Michel: I count myself in the category of people who don’t really have a strong opinion about this band either way. They are fine but nothing much more, an outfit whose praise and disdain baffles me (unless you really care about Grammy results). Once again, I shrug my shoulders after one listen.
[5]
Will Adams: At this point, it might as well be white noise. On the radio, at the dentist’s office, or in Hell, you could go days without noticing that it’s there. But when you do notice it, all is not lost. There’s some sprightly banjo, multitracked harmonies, and a stomping drum. It’s just pleasant enough to hold you in for a minute or two. And then it dissolves again as you contemplate whether to buy regular Cheerios or Honey Nut Cheerios for your kid.
[5]
Scott Mildenhall: Not so much Mumford & Sons as Mumford & Song, the only one they’ve ever written. Admittedly, formulaicity, while not being a real word, can be tolerable, even wonderful — Status Quo made as well as reflected their name on it — but Mumford & Sons are not Status Quo. Status Quo’s song was “Down Down,” it was “Caroline,” it was “Whatever You Want,” and it was “Rockin’ All Over The World.” Mumford & Sons’ is “Whisper In The Dark”: the song that puts the “d” before “rousing.”
[4]
Ian Mathers: Did ANYONE think that these folkbros getting mass popularity was going to make them less insufferable and mawkish? Do bookmakers even take those odds?
[2]
Jonathan Bogart: We’ve been here before, but it didn’t feel so empty then.
[4]
Sabina Tang: I’ve told my Mumford & Sons at Pop Montreal anecdote ad nauseam, so won’t repeat it again. The point of the story was that I found them one of those amiable but hopelessly subcultural outfits that never — and probably should never — meet with mainstream success. (Then again, I thought the same of Muse.) The Dharohar Project EP exhilarated me, though, and the boys retained their part of the lesson. Now I’m thinking of that one character from the second Phonogram run who was obsessed with Dexy’s Midnight Runners in 2006 while his friends were listening to the Pipettes. That’s a personality issue; his 2036 doppelganger might be very into Mumford.
[7]