Pitchfork

Philadelphia trio Espers' first two releases-- 2004's Espers and 2005's The Weed Tree-- were inadvertently incorporated into the big freak-folk/New Weird America snowball that also tumbled over and swallowed up Devendra Banhart, Joanna Newsom, Animal Collective, Faun Fables, and a mess of other psych- and folk-infused players. For the most part, freak-folk tends to eschew any clear genre parameters, but its participants-- willing or not-- are still blissfully united in an eyes-closed, drifting-to-the-strums adoration of ancient British folk tradition, while routinely pilfering from late-1960s/early-1970s folk-rock heroes Fairport Convention, Vashti Bunyan, Shirley Collins, the Strawbs, Pentangle, Comus, the Incredible String Band, and more. The hippie-gone-Renaissance Faire overtones might be distracting to those less-inclined to gnawing turkey legs while draped in beads, but Espers' intricate, vaguely menacing folk songs are smarter, sharper, and more relentlessly compelling than their trappings might suggest.

Espers is now a sextet, and II is far darker, deeper, and more ominous than its predecessors, a rich, droning mix of guitars, vocals slathered on vocals, cello, assorted bells, flute, recorder, mini-Korg, Tibetan singing bowls, dulcimer, a bit of bass, organ, the occasional drum, and a cornucopia of effects. The pretty haze that clouded earlier efforts is mostly lifted-- II is muscular throughout. Opener "Dead Queen" slowly builds, oozing sideways from an acoustic guitar riff that sounds half-lifted from "Stairway to Heaven", while Meg Baird and Brook Sietinsons coo in harmony, voices precise, inviting dancing bits of drone and effects-laden squeals into the song. "Mansfield and Cyclops" (Espers' song titles do little to alleviate their barefoot-in-the-woods reputation) is driving despite its relative quietude. "Moon Occults the Sun", which closes the record, sees Greg Weeks howling like Thom Yorke, his pipes beautifully unhinged and in tight contrast to taut drums and guitar.

II is a perfectly balanced record, and its arrangements are so exact and delicate that it almost feels like one buzz of a doorbell or ring of a telephone could send the whole thing toppling over, splattering into useless bits. Somehow, Espers manage to expertly capture the menace so inherent to Celtic folksinging, harnessing the same rhythms and pieces of syntax that infiltrated the Appalachians in the early 18th century, and translate that threat into a distinctly American noise. And, like any good folk outfit, old or new, Espers are preoccupied with story: Here, the songs are long and the lyrics are difficult to discern, but there's a hazy narrative in place that makes II extraordinarily difficult to listen to in pieces. There's an end to this tale, and you'll find yourself craving the closure.