Pitchfork

If listeners are familiar with Clogs, chances are they first learned of them via the band's close relationship with the National. After all, guitarist Bryce Dessner pulls double duty with both groups, while Clogs leader Padma Newsome has guested on all three National albums. As if there's not enough cross-pollination happening, Bryce's brother Aaron (also a guitarist for the National) is featured on Lantern, Clogs' fourth album. And if this is your first exposure to Clogs, you've picked a fantastic time to become acquainted.

Lantern is the most fully realized version of Clogs' aesthetic, seamlessly mixing their musical reference points-- classical, European folk, post-rock-- into a unique sound. Unlike previous Clogs albums, which primarily featured compositions written either solely by Newsome, or in conjunction with Dressner, Lantern is a collaborative effort. Each original track on this disc is credited to the group as a whole, and this joint effort shows in the performances. This collaborative spirit extends beyond the confines of the group. Lantern's first track is performed by a guest, Italian Baroque guitarist Luca Tarantino, who turns in a fine solo interpretation of a piece by 17th Century lute player Johann Hieronymus Kapsberger.

On most instrumental albums, both the slow, steady "Canon" and the more impatient "5/4"-- the two cuts that earn the group their post-rock merit badges for 2006-- would be the unassailable high points. On this disc, they're vying for space with lots of worthy candidates. Newsome's lyrical violin plays counterpoint to Rachael Elliot's mournful bassoon on "2:3:5", giving way to a elliptical swirl of steel drums; on the title track his plaintive voice asks for a light to bring him home. "Tides of Washington Bridge" appears twice on Lantern-- first as a wistful piece centered around ukulele and mandola, punctuated by soft bursts of guitar feedback as it ends, then performed solely on piano, the sad melody circling upon itself.

Yes, for the most part, this is a downbeat record, albeit with one notable exception: "The Song of the Cricket", which builds to a gentle portentous crescendo. Near the end, however, it deftly switches to a comical jazzy strut that doesn't sound the least bit out of place. A few more moments of levity might be a welcome addition to the group's repertoire, but this is a minor gripe. This album finds an already adventurous group of musicians combining their ambition and skill to create an engaging work.