The world is alive with the sound of folk. Well, the festival world, at least; already predictions that they’d headline one of the main stages at next year’s Glastonbury were whispered after Mumford & Sons’ set this year was rapturously received. They have become, essentially, the mainstream face of folk music, and this isn’t an apt description merely thanks to Sigh No More’s consistent presence in the upper reaches of the album chart. More depressingly, it’s because this is the distillation of folk’s worst and most obvious elements into an easily consumed package. It’s not that there are never any emotions behind the singing; more than there’s only one, and it feels too feeble, and, worst of all, it’s all expressed in the same way. Marcus Mumford seems to have only found one way of structuring a song: sparse guitar line to start, introduce vocals, slowly build other melodies over this, before bursting into a frenetic chorus. End.
Initially the album is pleasant and airy in its gentle guitar plucking and cawing vocals; single ‘The Cave’ manages to craft the best possible feel out of Mumford’s limitations, a sprightly, appeasing message where the banjo – an alarmingly persistent presence throughout – feels less chirpy and more an incessant suggestion of the insistence behind the lyrics. Even here, though, we can see the shallowness of the lyrics – baffling phrases that centre entirely on some vaguely invented folk-tale imagery – and the song is structured as precisely as those around it. As Sigh No More progresses it journeys through sadder, more melancholy sounds, yet the structure remains the same, and the lack of creativity becomes gapingly apparent. When they finally break out the electric guitars on penultimate track ‘Dust Bowl Dance’, it feels like a desperate reach to inject some life into their tired arrangements. As Mumford elongates the word “heart” across a minute for the third time, you may wonder how this can be the only way to express pain, and your own heart may give up hope.
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David Upton
