Since the dissolution of
the Brunettes,
Jonathan Bree has quietly put together a string of albums that are as inventive, emotionally complex, and sonically pleasing as anything done by anyone treading the same orchestral pop-meets-indie singer/songwriter boards that he does.
After the Curtains Close follows in the footsteps of his previous work as it combines heavy strings, deeply melancholy lyrics, melodies that sound familiar and strange at once, and through it all,
Bree's knack for delivering a subtle punch of a hook. The tracks veer from chilly synth-heavy ballads ("Children") to girl group pastiches (the
Princess Chelsea-sung "Kiss My Lips") to breezy indie pop ("Heavenly Vision") and heartbreak epics like the
Britta Phillips-sung "Meadows in Bloom" or "No Reminders" that sound like the heavenly meeting between
Lee Hazlewood and
Magnetic Fields. While the record is certifiably a
Bree creation, there are some differences to be found. The lyrical content is more sexually charged and a little desperate at times, dealing as it does with the gently debauched fallout from a breakup. It's not enough to distract from enjoying the songs; there are just a few moments -- like on the song "69" -- where the listener might think "did he just say that?" Along with this shift, there are some songs that have a more modern pop sound than usual. The slickly crafted "Waiting on the Moment" has the punch of a
Peter Bjorn and John track, "Happy Daze" adds sequencers and a glossy radio-ready finish, and "Until We're Done" has the sleek, nocturnal feel of music culled from the soundtrack of a neon-filled film. These alterations are more upgrades than problems, though, and show that
Bree is expanding his reach to places where people outside his already-established circle of fans might accidentally end up discovering his music. That may or may not happen, but for those in the know, the tenderness and precise beauty of
After the Curtains Close will come as no shock. It's another near-brilliant exercise in restraint and underplayed feeling that cuts just as deep as music made by those who shout their pain from the rooftops.
Bree has never done that and, judging by the unbreakable fine string of albums he's made to this point, never will.