Pitchfork

These are fertile times for political absurdists, a fact that's clearly not been lost on the wayfarers of Cerberus Shoal. Without much fanfare, the Portland, Maine-based group has constructed a broad and unwieldy discography that is resistant to blanket judgements. But for their 11th release, the avant-garde troupe have issued what is surely their most topical, lyrically-focused collection, and the The Land We All Believe In emerges as a magnanimous, comic investigation into realities both political and otherwise. Along the route Cerberus Shoal maintain their catholic approach to instrumentation and deformed pop structures, resulting in their loopiest piece of sonic theater to date.

Over the course of their now decade-plus career, Cerberus Shoal's sound has undergone a higher-than-average number of directional shifts, due primarily to their ever-revolving membership. Since 2003's Chaiming the Knoblessone, however, the roster has relatively stabilized into a regular septet that now also includes percussionist Tim Morin. Produced by Scott Colburn, longtime cohort of the Sun City Girls and John Fahey's Revenent label, the music on The Land We All Believe In continues to function without an absolute center. In true ensemble form everyone takes turns sharing vocal duties and assuming the spotlight, and never before has the group sounded further afield from their indie-punk origins. Here in fact there are long stretches where they instead explore various pre-rock forms, roaming freely through gnarled ethnic folk, woozy sea chanteys, and trilling showtunes in a manner reminiscent of a looser, more rustic Thinking Fellers Union Local #282.

"Reality, you are not quite what you used to be," sing Colleen Kinsella and Erin Davidson over banjo and clattering percussion on the elegiac opening title track, a sentiment that the group then proceed to repeatedly confirm over the course of the next hour. Founding member Chriss Sutherland pilots the manic "Wyrm" over choppy waters, vocalizing in his own distinct, impenetrable dialect; while "Pie for the President" prescribes a unique form of activism ("Bring a pie to ze president/ I want to feed him big sausages") and "Junior" perhaps takes further oblique swipes at our Commander in Chief, "Junior, I've got something to tell you/ All that you fear is shit."

Things come increasingly unhinged on the epic-length "The Ghosts Are Greedy", which contains an extended mid-song spoken word segment railing against the government, media coverage, and the mysterious "Dr. Draino". Eventually this track opens into a reassuring coda that optimistically proclaims, "There is no conflict...We belong united," noble sentiments that would likely be more persuasive were the group's vocals not so progressively melodramatic and Muppet-like. And as the album closes with the jazzily skewed "Taking Out the Enemy", one is left with the impression that perhaps Cerberus Shoal make their best arguments in favor of a tolerant, egoless unity at those times when they all keep their mouths shut and let their playfully audacious music do their talking.