CD Review: Owen Pallett – “Island “ (2020)

For a man who has collaborated with seemingly everyone, Owen Pallett has an ominous quality to his personal career. Despite producing and collaborating on dozens of songs annually, his own output has been much smaller, with his solo albums coming out many years apart. Then again, it’s easy to see why as his dedication to complicated lyrics and orchestration reflect the gift for listeners who want to spill details over simple ideas such as harmonies, how a turn of phrase can hold a deeper meaning. For Pallett fans, reviewing “Island” this close to release may as qualify as sacrilegious, not allowing proper time to interact with the music and understand it on a more personal level.

With that said, I did not come into this album a fan of Pallett, or at least someone who can recall what his music even sounded like. To say that I was willing to put in the time to research how “Island” is a sequel to a 2010 album called “Heartland” would be especially laughable. Still, discovering these details fills you with a curiosity of a bigger world, of someone creating whole worlds within the confines of music. I’d have never guessed that there would be a desire to return to the world of the concept album after a decade doing just about everything else, including another album in 2014 called “In Conflict.”

If I knew Pallett from anywhere, it would be from Her (2014). In hindsight, I understand fully why director Spike Jonze decided to go with him and Arcade Fire’s Will Butler, turning the sci-fi genre into something more twee and experimental in the indie film aesthetic. There haven’t been a lot of films like Her, and that’s as much because of the story as it is a score that gained Butler and Pallett a shared Oscar nomination. To me, it’s one of those nominations that are exciting because it recognizes something that The Oscars rarely did before: the new class, creating what the future of what film would sound like.

To listen to the way that instruments looped and motifs returned through various genres was to see how flexible the style was. Pallett’s gift as a violinist, pianist, guitarist, and singer reflected perfectly on the album, making for its own great concept album where every noise had this deeper meaning. It’s because of the Her score that I had any interest at all in listening to “Island,” wanting to see what else he was capable of. While there are traces of me that was disappointed that it didn’t sound like Her, I was excited to know that in one way it did.

It was a cinematic experience. Much like “Heartland,” it was an album that centered around a story, and one that’s not abundantly clear when going straight in. From what I gather, his 2010 album focused on the life of farmer Lewis who discovers that he is a creation and, upon gaining self-consciousness, decides to destroy his God/creator, known logically as Owen. 

I don’t know much about Lewis. I don’t even remember his name coming up all that much on this album. Even then, I understood Pallett’s point in taking his music into the abstract. Artists like David Bowie and Madonna before have taken to alter egos in order to express sides to themselves that they wouldn’t be comfortable fully owning. They’re less obvious with Pallett, who doesn’t create bombastic reasoning behind this decision. Still, it makes sense when you realize his love for the abstract, notably in the memorably titled “Lewis Gets Fucked Into Space.” As a fantasy, it’s tolerable. As Pallett expressing himself personally, it’s self-serving nonsense.

From what I gather, Pallett’s sequel is less of a direct narrative this time around, focusing instead on Lewis’ time trapped on an island, going in and out of consciousness. It is reflective in the instrumentation that starts with simpler melodies, mostly performed on guitars and violins, reflecting the pulse being brought into the character. As an album, it’s broken up into four sections, all separated by sections titled like “---> (ii).” These unpronounceable sections serve as act breaks, reflective of a shift in something in the theme. These are often the shortest sections, serving more as brief overtures to the biggest point, like the curtain rising on what’s to come.

In the first song, he sings about something resembling a fraught relationship. Along with boat imagery, there is this sense that he is on his way to be abandoned on an island, whether metaphorically or emotionally:

I think I’ve found the cure:

Make sure you're living a quarter of your waking life in the present

And the rest I’ll spend remembering

Scorching our feet on the sand and tires of our bikes on wet cement

With this passage alone, it gives a depth to what this album wants to achieve. It’s a dreamlike narrative, where the instruments play bitonally, creating a harmony that can sound meditative as Pallett breaks into his baroque pop leanings, singing of the hurt deep down. The words are highfalutin, and they also present so much to think about within four lines. Lewis has found himself becoming passive in his own life, remembering the good times even if there are three-quarters that are a waste, being crudely destroyed in the foundations around them. 

“Paragon of Order” continues this grief, all presented in the quieter use of instrumentation, flowing like an ocean of pacifism. He makes mention of his desire to pray (“I will pray in secret, says the scripture”), hoping that it will work things out. Given what is known on “Island” already, there is this sense that Lewis is going to be attending a journey like no other, beginning the “---> (i)” section as a prelude to the final three sections, reflecting on the grief that he’s secretly acquired while the music becomes numbing, dreamlike, and melancholic. The strings are immersive, lulling you into the familiar in ways that may initially disorient the listener, finding nothing exceptional in Lewis’ life.

Considering that the song ends with the cry of “Godkiller’s alive!” it’s easy to see it as some commentary on Lewis overcoming some great odds entering “---> (ii).” The first song in the next section, “The Sound of The Engines,”  recalls waking up in an ambulance, feeling the world falling apart around him. “Preservation of the Saints” reflects his ability to wake up too early, having a consciousness that makes him alert even if his body isn’t ready for these experiences. There’s something eating at Lewis, and it’s clear that as the strings begin to swell more, becoming soaring and the imagery more confrontational, that there’s something major about to shift. 

With “Polar Vortex,” he becomes more drawn into the madness, no longer satisfying with the melancholy overwhelming his personality, making his life feel inconsequential. It becomes especially tragic over the course of a repeated motif, where “madness is a man” first takes the form of a lesson he learned from his mother before becoming something more personal:

And then there are those who can make time stop

Crush the future into present

Your job your house your family

Turn to dust in an instant

And a single word from your lover’s voice

Says madness is a man, oh

Madness is a man among us, oh

You will let the madness in

With this simple passage, the album begins to kick into a more aggressive gear, with the self-actualization now informing the decisions of Lewis as he remains trapped on his emotional island, trying everything to find the person who will make him feel full, giving him the nourishment and protection that he so desperately needs. 

The section “---> (iii)” is where things begin to spiral even further into the self. With every section, he’s become more and more involved with the personal. Staring with “A Bloody Mourning,” he mentions his growing drinking problem, even saying that he’s doing so at work. The island imagery appears as he mentions “An underwater starscape, an escape, I cannot swim, I cannot swim.” There is this hopelessness, reflecting that he is trapped and to escape would be to drown, needing help from an outside force.

It’s around here that the album picks up a deeper pulse, with the percussion starting to kick in and the orchestra begins to feel fuller. There’s so much in the audacity of this section that becomes engrossing, reflecting the cryptic imagery becoming fuller as the sadness overpowers Lewis’ perspective. He wants to wake up from this moment, but he can’t. He’s stuck in this misery, and he needs to figure out how to get out of it. In “Fire-mare,” he continues this by suggesting that “I never learned to hate.” He feels vulnerable, wondering why the world is so cruel to him for his compassion.

Though if you want to get into some cosmically out there (literally) moments, then you’ll want to take your time understanding the final stretch, which strays from the self-loathing that has underlined the songs before. Lewis’ journey has been one of exploring his depression from a failed relationship, but now we get the revival that would be so comic if Pallett wasn’t such an earnest singer, making “Lewis Gets Fucked Into Space” one of those staggering achievements on the album in title alone.

Thankfully the accompanying sound is so beautiful, capturing a rise in instrumentations as it becomes claustrophobic, intimate, and creating this passion that has been absent from the album. You can hear the internal drive of Lewis starting to become electric, alive like it hasn’t been throughout the album. He sings:

Then I thought I saw the rooftops

Disappear beneath my feet

And I wonder who will sing of me when I am gone?

As my body rises like a stone

For the first time, there is a concern that he will be loved, leaving behind a legacy. As the world becomes small underneath him, he has escaped the island and is now on his own planet, swirling in a sonic landscape that grows curious with time, though never divulges into parody. Even the use of “---> (iv)” feels more significant, featuring the longest interlude yet, serving as this moment to interpret the orchestration, finding joy in the way a string swells or the percussion beats more rapidly.

As the album ends, the final new song (“In Darkness”) continues to find the outer space imagery growing, finding this joy in intimacy. With that said, there is a curious repeat of the songs “Paragon of Order” and “Fire-mare,” raising the questions as to why they’re there. It could be that this passage is capable of being read either as passionate or cynical depending on your situation:

Oh, I never learned how to hate

I never learned how to be hated

Can it be controlled?

Can anything be controlled?

It hurts like a cancer in me

But in every room I still can feel his ghost

Blood rushing around us

Like a herd of phantom horses

That is how the album ends, returning to a point midway through the album that came as a moment of despair, but now has this sense of optimism, like Lewis has managed to move on from his terrible relationship.

Considering that Pallett is known for being stubborn, I am sure that there’s more to this album that I’m missing. I have yet to hear “Heartland,” nor have I done more but spend some time pondering the lyrics along with the music. Maybe I’m missing the bigger picture, that this is about more than Lewis feeling alone in the world and finding a love that takes him out of this world. Then again, that’s the exact mindset that Pallett wants you to have, getting lost in the beauty of his music to the point that things slip by, requiring a closer listen to understand who truly loves his work, loves him in general.

To be honest, I was skeptical going into “Island” that Pallett was this great artist that I had overlooked. His style seemed a little too stuffy and artsy, and not in the fun Andrew Bird way. However, the more that I sat with it, letting the album play out, the more it worked like a great score, evolving and forcing you to find these melodic shifts that are beautiful yet slight, motifs that repurpose themselves into something compelling. I don’t love it yet, but I am intrigued by the world that he’s creating here, and I can only hope going into it further will be a rewarding experience.

For now, I recognize that Pallett clearly is more worthy of my attention, finding his creative exercises blooming into something as rich as Her. Given that he’s worked with just about everyone, I’d imagine that there’s so much more that I’ll come away loving. Maybe by the time I get around to it, I’ll be joining you in the painful wait for the meticulous wait for his next album, unexpected and initially frustrating, but holds deeper rewards for those willing to give it time.