Given the fact that Pullman‘s first release arrived in 1998 and their second in 2001, no one anticipated a third; and yet personal circumstances brought this supergroup together for what may be a final hurrah. Featuring band members of Tortoise, Come and Rex, Pullman has its roots in post-rock tradition, and the sound of III hearkens back to that classic era.
The impetus for the album was drummer Tim Barnes’ public announcement of early Alzheimer’s at age 54. Tortoise’s Ken (“Bundy K.”) Brown sprung into action, arranging early recording sessions with Barnes and eventually bringing the band back together for what would become a celebration and a tribute. In so doing they honor the words of T.S. Eliot: “You are the music while the music lasts.”
Listening to III is like discovering a favorite childhood band had recorded a mystery album and locked the masters in an old wooden chest, only to be discovered decades later. “Bray” is a brief and instantly euphoric beginning, the rare post-rock piece that is almost too short to be a single. “Weightless,” on the other hand, is just right, rising slowly, taking its time, indicating that every moment is precious and that it’s okay to extend a shimmering experience. The drums keep time, the pedal steel wails, the bass carves out a forlorn melody, and for nearly seven minutes one can imagine time and diagnosis suspended, the outside world folding into the notes, the past nudging into the present in comfortable, familiar fashion. “Thirteen” is even longer and more intimate, beginning in humble fashion and expanding slowly like the memories of a cherished life. The whole thing stops in the middle, as if to reassess, giving way to a gossamer-thin ambience that carries through to the end of the piece.
And then, the thirteen-and-a-half minute “October.” Now this is post-rock! It’s easy to interpret the title as a metaphor, the month of nature’s slow decline; but it is also the month in which the leaves burn fiercest in shades of ochre and russet and brick. Like its predecessor, this swirling piece ends in an extended fade, followed by the warmth of conversation and lightly brushed drums in the 47-second “Killing Time,” and the homespun banjo of the closing “Kabul,” which also features train-like sounds and is accompanied by a vibrant green video. Beginning with the image of a crow, an augury of death, and ending with peacock feathers, an image of life, the videographer seems to be saying that the mind may retreat, but the music and the legacy live on. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 