Send "Timber Timbre " Ringtones to your Cell 
| Pitchfork |
 Timber Timbre frontman Taylor Kirk's got style, no doubt about it. His rich croon carries a bit of Elvis Presley's curled-lip sneer and touches of Nick Cave's matter-of-fact rumble, and his dark-hewed retro-rock tunes are spare and slinky; should David Lynch ever helm a "Mad Men", Kirk and company could easily provide the score. Timber Timbre's latest, Creep On Creepin' On, is a dapper set of darkly atmospheric doo-wop and blues but possessed with a style all its own.Creep On's stark, shadowy swing is nearly as distinctive as Kirk's voice. With its emphasis on empty space and a fondness for acoustic instruments, there's a twisted proto-rock'n'roll feel to it, like the Everly Brothers if Susie'd never woken up. There's also a Grizzly Bear-like balance of spaciousness and swiveling parts, although Creep On's tone is far bleaker than that of Veckatimest. These songs shuffle and sway before strings and saxophones (the latter from sideman-of-the-moment Colin Stetson) inevitably start to swarm, sending bold streaks of color through the black-and-white filter of Kirk's midnight creep. Strange and startling, these bursts of cacophony provide an unlikely counterpoint to Timber Timbre's stripped-back tunes. Though they're meant to heighten the desperation at the heart of these songs, the two sides clash about as often as they complement each other, the towering, clamorous arrangements occasionally overpowering Kirk's melodies. But when it all comes together, it's stunning; highpoint "Woman" starts out honking, downshifts into an insistent croon, and then ramps back up again to close, moving fluidly through its wildly disparate sounds. But a yearning ballad like "Lonesome Hunter" would've fared just fine without the 30 seconds of orchestral insanity that closes it out; same goes for the din that ends "Do I Have Power" or the out-from-nowhere instrumental midsection of opener "Bad Ritual."...full text |
| Guardian |
| Timber Timbre are a Canadian trio whose rootsy third album, released in 2009, suggested they were born and raised in the deep south. Its follow-up is less indebted to folk, combining doo-wop, crepuscular blues and, on "Swamp Magic", woozy chamber pop. There are traces of rockabilly, too, notably on the sleazy title track, which makes fine use of a saxophone and sounds like the Cramps reborn as an MOR act. Such surprises, though, are in short supply, while frontman Taylor Kirk's annoying tendency to echo Vic Reeves mimicking Nick Cave lends the album an unintentionally comedic feel....full text |
| Thelineofbestfit |
| If the netherworld has bars, Timber Timbre is the headlining act. Their self titled album in 2009, which made the Canadian Polaris Prize’s short list, is quite a diversion from their current effort Creep On Creepin’ On. While the minimalist musical arrangements still exist, on the latest reincarnation, the songs are dressed with interludes of moody ambient wanderings ramped up on reverb and sounding like a soundtrack to an old Dr. Who episode. If the title hasn’t warned you, Creep On Creepin’ On is less of a dark folk-blues album, typical of the band, and more of a leisurely stroll with the dead. Often there is a fuzz of strings and electronic insects that sound reminiscent of Tindersticks in their early years. Taylor Kirk’s vocals have deepened slightly and are fed through a 50s type reverb machine resulting in a spooky echo. The pulse of most of the songs is provided by the constant march of a pair of lonely piano keys struck in tandem. A poltergeist bass line interplays with the piano leaving the hair raising elements to the violins and guitars. No, this is not a joyous record. Kirk’s gloomy vocals and the overall slow methodical pace to the album offers no room for uplift despite Timber Timbre’s pleas for sunshine in their first single ‘Black Water’. Given this dark descent, Creep On Creepin’ On literally creeps up on you. Right from the opening seconds, the listening experience is intense seemingly guiding the subconscious through a labyrinth of dark narrow passages that echo with the sounds of trapped souls milling about. The chorus of ghostly voices send tingles and chills throughout the body’s sensory receptors. Enough to darken the brightest of suns, there is sense that the momentum cannot be stopped; it is useless to resist....full text |
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