Sir are a local Melbourne band, initially consisting of Jesse James Shepherd, who plays an electric organ and an analogue synth (and has hair that looks a little like Eraserhead), and Elizabeth Downey, who languidly strums a guitar, whilst singing with eyes half closed. More recently they were joined by a bass player, Matt Bailey, formerly of The Paradise Motel. Their music, as you can imagine, is rather languid and downtempo; it reminded me of a description of trip-hop I once read in Future Music, which described it as involving taking as much Valium as one can without falling over and then trying to sing over a slowed-down James Brown single. This, however, is not trip-hop; for one, most of it doesn't actually have beats.
The Night I Met My Second Wife is their debut album, independently recorded, though looking (and, indeed, sounding) deceptively polished. The minimalist, monochromatic artwork (consisting of black and white photographs of the two original band members) and crisp typography don't look like anything you'd expect on an unsigned Australian band's debut album, but suggest that it may be from England or Amsterdam or somewhere with too many graphic designers.
So what does it actually sound like? Languid and laid-back, some would say to a fault. The organ chords and synths form lush textures, enveloping the sleepy vocals, and in places the elements, minimal as they are, come together with an almost Zen perfection, forming an exquisitely blissful whole.
The lyrics are quiet and introspective, with ominously noir, almost Portisheadesque, undertones every now and then.
The most obvious band to draw parallels with would be The Paradise Motel, even though the album was recorded before Matt Bailey joined the band. Elizabeth's vocals sound not unlike Merida Sussex in the Motel's quieter moments, and Jesse's vocals, which are inevitably understated, remind me of the male vocals on some of the Motel's acoustic demos. The most noticeable difference is that Sir don't rock out; their songs remain slow and dreamlike, unbroken by outbursts of violent passion; though the title track does have a brooding, melodramatic, silent-movie-soundtrack feel to it.
That is not to say that it is uninteresting; far from it. It won't, of course, be everybody's cup of tea; sort of like Slowdive's Pygmalion, some will find it too slow and minimal, and others will find it growing on them, and notice some new detail with each listen. Not a record to mosh to, by any means, but most agreeable for putting on when spending a quiet evening with good friends, talking into the wee small hours over a cup of chai.
