Audio By Carbonatix
The Theater Fire’s eponymous, full-length debut is like an old record found at the bottom of a flea-market stack, jacket yellowed at the corners, vinyl scuffed with wear and smelling of mystery. It’s hard not to compare this Fort Worth septet–that’s right, seven people–to something archaic. There is mandolin, banjo, trumpet and accordion in addition to the standard rock setup. But more than that it’s the way the sounds–a bullwhip here, a percussive jingle there–fill the spaces with cinematic drama, always complementing, never cluttering. And then there are the lyrics. The album is haunted by murdered children, gamblers, scapegoats, lonely travelers, angry people with guns congregating in the woods and other lost souls who fill narratives with lush images and cautionary tales such as “I’ve learned from disaster much more than love/But the lessons I’ve forgotten, I’m fearful of” from the track called “Swimming.” Live the band is just as stunning, with people crowding the stage, switching instruments and playing in places far removed from the scenery of the songs. Just be sure to stop talking long enough for everyone to enjoy.
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