NPR's Second Stage Review
author: NPR's Second Stage
Aptly named, Chris Robley’s third solo LP, Movie Theatre Haiku, swirls together dark, evocative instrumentation and poetic lyrics. Quirky track names and the album’s long subtitle, “a Masque of Backwards Ballads, a Picturesque Burlesque,” provide only a hint of the complexities and eccentricities of the album’s many layers. But there’s plenty of surprises to keep you guessing and wanting more.
Dark, romantic strains take flight, thanks to the addition of the backing band, The Fear of Heights, which adds a host of instruments — including the dulcimer, trumpet, clarinet, flute, saxophone, and violin — to Robley’s already robust and full-bodied instrumental lineup. But, Robley and his band don’t stop at traditional instruments. “The Late, Great Age of Paper” also includes synthesizers and electronica elements, offering a nice kick and a modern twist.
Traces of inventive and whimsical bands like The Decemberists and recent Second Stage artist, PT Walkley, may jump out of Portland’s Chris Robley and The Fear of Heights. But this gothic, orchestral indie-pop is sure to leave heads spinning with its unique and haunting sound.
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West Coast Performer Magazine Review
author: West Coast Performer Magazine
Chris Robley is one musician who likes to go big. The Portland singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist conducts a bona fide pop-rock orchestra on his third album, Movie Theatre Haiku, a cinematic musical experience that incorporates numerous genres and instrumental layers, theatrical vocals and lyrics, and enough hooks to prove his innate songwriting talent.
Robley melds his classically trained background with the gamut of modern genres so no two songs on the album sound alike. For starters, along with his backing band, the Fear of Heights, he weaves in just about every instrument but the kitchen sink: violas, clarinets, trumpets and theremin mingle with electric guitars, piano, bass and drums. Some tracks resurrect the pop largess of The Beatles (“User-Friendly Guide to Change”) or stunning folk-rock melodies (the standout “Baltimore Fugitives Buried in Brownsville, TX”), and still others might conjure electronic beats that sound straight out of an Atari video game (“The Late, Great Age of Paper (haiku #2)”), showing that Robley has some experimental tricks up his sleeve.
Perhaps the grandest instrument, however, is Robley’s voice, which he uses to full effect, singing out so loud and clear, as on “My Life in Film Festivals (haiku #1),” that one could easily imagine him the star of a rock opera. Paired with ambitious lyrics, such as on “Atheist’s Prayer” (“God is great/God is good/God is something I/ never understood”), Robley heightens the drama even more.
Robley is a spirited musical presence, and Movie Theatre Haiku, an ambitious work. If that isn’t convincing enough for a listen, not too many artists these days have the cojones to rock the kazoo. It’s nice to know that someone out there is actually having a little fun with music.
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AntiMusic.com Review
author: AntiMusic.com
Chris Robley is a multi-instrumentalist. By which I don’t mean he plays guitars and keyboards. Don’t get me wrong. He does play guitar, keyboards (organs, synths, pianos, etc.) But he also plays bass, vibraphones, marimbas, banjo, mandolin, and so on. That is pretty impressive, especially to me. I have a hard time mastering one instrument.One thing I can say for Chris Robley (aside from the fact that he has created the longest album title I can recall since Fiona Apple’s When the yada yada yada) is that you won’t hear too many albums like his. Movie Theater Haiku begins with a track that is reminiscent of Murder By Death. It features a healthy dose of strings and a rich, sort of literary feel to it.
In fact, the entire album has a literary feel to it. Just look at the song titles such as “The Late, Great Age of paper (haiku #2)” and “Baltimore Fugitives Buried in Brownsville, TX.” They kind of sound like story titles, don’t they. Robley is not interested in making 3-minute verse-chorus-verse songs. Each one of his songs feels more like a short story put to a fairly complex arrangement. That being said, Robley is not above using a kazoo (”Solipsist in Love”), which is probably the least literary-sounding instrument available.
Robley not only shows skill as a multi-instrumentalist. He has created an album in which the style of music varies from one song to the next. There is a definite darkness in some of the tunes (”A Memory Lost at Sea” and “Glass Reich”) while “The User-Friendly Guide to Change” is an upbeat song with a cool horn part.
I’m not sure I could classify Chris Robley other than to call his music arty and complex. I can’t really say he sounds like anyone, but if you are a fan of The Decemberists, you might want to check out Chris Robley and the Fear of Heights.
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MetroActive Review
author: MetroActive.com
WHEN ONE hears that Chris Robley has most famously been called the “Stephen King of indie pop,” it’s natural to imagine songs about rabid dogs, haunted hotels and reanimating graveyards. But if anything, Robley’s fantastical and surreal musical world is more like King’s nonhorror epic The Talisman—a sprawling alternate universe that seems to be just barely separated from our own, and sometimes, suddenly and unexpectedly, brings itself into alignment with the real world.
On his new album, Movie Theatre Haiku, Robley creates a glittering musical landscape that’s not unlike Sufjan Stevens in the way it careens between pop structures and experimentation. “1, 2, 3, 4, it’s my fault,” he sings on the album’s opener, “Waltz for Angelika Dittrich, “this album needed a waltz. But I just can’t stand 3/4 time, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.”
That’s the thing about Robley: the surface darkness of the music is so in your face it almost has become a crutch for critics looking for a way into Robley’s psyche. In truth, Robley’s writing is also funny and even hopeful—the bubbly and bright “User-Friendly Guide to Change” on this record could have been written by Matthew Sweet, for Christ’s sake. Like Tom Waits, even his most forlorn characters have a sympathetic quality that makes you root for them. Like the Eels, another band known for dark electric soundscapes, it becomes more and more obvious with each listen that Robley believes everything just might be OK.
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