ALBUM REVIEW

After almost three years, the 

British folk band Mumford and 
Sons steps back into the spotlight 
with their new album Delta. 
However, after eagerly awaiting 
the band’s return since their 
2015 release Wilder Mind, which 
featured a stronger pop-vibe to 
the band’s trademark folk, Delta 
is lackluster and disappointing. 
Mumford and Sons seem to 
be in the midst of an identity 
crisis, almost completely losing 

touch with the folksy, grassroots 
authenticity 
of 
their 
earlier 

albums, which included hits 
like “I Will Wait,” “The Cave” 
and “Little Lion Man.” The 
band’s more recent releases have 
taken baby-steps away from the 
traditional folk instrumentation 
— banjo, guitar, drums and 
horns — to add a modern touch 
with busier instrumentation and 
an ebb-and-flow in the surreal 
ambiance of the music. Delta 
takes it a step too far, abandoning 
almost all of Mumford and 
Sons 
unique 
trademarks 
— 

imaginative, honest, rustic lyrics 
and a home-made, native folk 
feel — in danger of becoming yet 
another, unoriginal alternative-
rock band threatened by looming 
obscurity.

The album consists of 14 

songs, opening with mediocre 
“42,” which comes off as loud, 
busy and underwhelming. The 
harmonizing of the vocals is 
vaguely reminiscent of gospel and 
hymnal songs which is further 
emphasized in the lyrics, “We 
wanna see a sign / Give us some 
guiding light.” However, while 
the spiritual undertones and 
harmonies recall the antiquity 
of more traditional music, the 
song comes off as passing, but 
ultimately 
forgettable. 
After 

name-dropping the song in “42,” 
the album continues on with 
“Guiding Light.” “Guiding Light” 
is by no means a bad song, and 
follows familiar Mumford and 
Sons themes of heartbreak and 
emotional confessions of love. 
However, the song builds into 
a wave of sound that drowns 
out some good lyrics and the 
comforting country twang of 
the vocals. “Beloved” tries to 

recover some ground, bringing 
in a shadow of the familiar folk 
tunes to the echoing techno-
style sounds which dominate the 
album. “Darkness Visible” is one 
of the few songs worth listening 
to, if only because it’s so very 
strange. The song is dramatic, 
dark and ominous, and feels 
more suitable for the surreal 
dream-sequences of the movie 
“Inception” than a folk-alt rock 
band. On the other hand, “October 
Skies” is the most faithful to what 
might be considered Mumford 
and Sons original style (which 
they seem all too eager to throw 
out the window), and contains 
some surprisingly great lyrics for 
such an underwhelming album: 
“These postcard memories / 
evade my eyes / In the valley I’m 
free / but in the hills I soar.”

The 
stylistic 
shift 
from 

Mumford and Sons’s original 
(and beloved) Sigh No More 
(2009) and Babel (2012), to Wilder 
Mind (2015) and finally Delta 
(2018) has been a gradual move 
away from their folk to a more 
confident commitment to the 
alternative-rock genre. Yet, in 
this transition the band seems 
to lose touch with what makes 
them unique. Their earlier music 
had a strong down-to-earth vibe, 
and songs like “I Will Wait” and 
“Little Lion Man” captured a 
sense of sincerity, which made 
the band’s music so poignant. 
They captured the pride, dignity 
and antiquity of the British folk 
and bluegrass music, and even 
the name “Mumford and Sons” 
is an obvious play off of the 
traditional business and company 
names of the 20th century. This 
attempted reinvention to gain 
a 
stronger, 
more 
prominent 

presence in the modern alt rock 
genre clashes with the folksy, old-
fashioned vibe that the band’s 
image caters to. It’s almost as 
if the band is making a painful 
effort to be more appealing in 
the modern market by sacrificing 
what may be deemed too “old-
fashioned” for a global audience 
dominated by the loud, dramatic 
thunderstorms of sound we know 
as pop and rock. But whether it’s 
from a lack of originality, or the 
contrast between Mumford and 
Sons’s image with the starkly 
different Delta, something feels 
missing in this latest album. 
It’s not that any of the album 
is “bad” (although “Darkness 
Visible” toes the line), but the 
familiar twang of the banjo and 
the heavier folk influence is 
sorely missed in Delta. Change 
and artistic development is good 
and important, but Mumford and 
Sons may be taking a step in the 

wrong direction.

In the end, casual listeners 

will enjoy Mumford and Sons 
latest album as a new addition to 
a probably overplayed alt rock-
folk playlist. However, more 
dedicated fans, especially those 
who regularly foray into classic 
country and more traditional, 

pure folk will be disappointed by 
this album. Part of what makes 
folk and alternative bands great 
is their unashamed, undaunted 
pride in their acknowledgment 
of antiquity and of their roots — 
Mumford and Sons turn away 
from their beginning, and it feels 
almost like a personal rejection 
at times. They seemingly bow to 
the pressure of business, industry 
and the tastes of uniform the 
majority, rather than standing by 
their roots. 

Mumford and Sons’ ‘Delta’ 
falls flat, away from folk

MADELEINE GANNON

Daily Arts Writer

Delta

Mumford and Sons 

Glassnote 

Entertainment 

Group LLC

“Boy Erased” follows the story 

of Jared Eamons (Lucas Hedges, 
“Lady Bird”), the son of a Baptist 
preacher who, upon coming out 
to his family, must join a gay 
conversion therapy program or 
risk ostracism from everyone he 

knows. The film was adapted from 
Garrard Conley’s memoir of the 
same name and directed by Joel 
Edgerton (“The Gift”), who plays 
a supporting role himself. While 
Edgerton approaches the heavy 
subject material with appropriate 
weight and nuance, the film suffers 
from its excessively narrow focus 
on events rather than characters. 

The movie’s first hour is nearly 

flawless. 
Edgerton’s 
ability 
to 

immerse viewers in the gravity 
of Jared’s experiences without 
breathless exposition is remarkable. 
The audience gets a clear sense of 
the pressure he is facing without an 
explicit understanding of the reason 
he is there. Hedges’s performance 
is suffused with a quiet, uneasy 
intensity 
that 
unleashes 
itself 

rarely but memorably throughout 
the movie. He effortlessly conveys 
through the timidness of his gait and 
the restraint of his smile that there 
is something deeply uncomfortable 
about the program. That queasiness 
is bitingly palpable and sustains for 
most of the runtime. 

Other performances in the 

film, while generally strong, are 
somewhat 
underused. 
Nicole 

Kidman (“Big Little Lies”) plays 
Jared’s mother Nancy, and her 
genuine sympathy for him lends the 
film a much-needed source of levity. 
Russell Crowe (“The Nice Guys”), 
who plays Jared’s father, skillfully 
shows his character’s internal 
conflict in accepting his son.

Edgerton’s control over the 

visual palette of the therapy center 
is masterful. He recalls Kubrick’s 
“Full Metal Jacket” in the way 
that that slow tracking shots across 
rows of boys turn individuals 
into monotonous uniforms. This 
comparison, whether intentional 
or not, is striking because the 
conversion program descends into 
gradual brutality as the film goes 
on. 

The film’s most distracting flaw 

is the way it uses minor characters, 
mostly the other participants in 
the program, as mere vehicles 
to 
develop 
and 
alter 
Jared’s 

perspective. They rarely feel like 
actual people, only lines of dialogue 
that push the narrative forward. 
This is a painful misstep for a movie 
whose emotional impact rests 
on the devastation of conversion 
therapy. The connection we form 
to these minor characters feels 
so forced and artificial that it has 
the tendency to take one out of an 
otherwise engrossing experience. 

Another issue of “Boy Erased” 

is that Edgerton frequently loses 
his sense of subtlety. One of Jared’s 
flashbacks reveals his first few 
months at college and involves one 
of the film’s most intense, haunting 
moments. The duration that this 
moment holds turns from excessive 
to insensitive because Edgerton’s 
camera stays stubbornly fixed in 
place where it could have — and 
should have — cut away. The film’s 

dramatic climax also lacks nuance, 
seeming to arrive out of thin air 
and neatly wrapping the central 
conflict in a box. We are left with 
the story that approximates a 
blunt and sanctimonious catalog of 
tribulations more than a memoir. 
Jared’s agency, while key to crafting 
the film’s ending and real-life 
resolution, is nonexistent until the 
story conjures it into existence. 

In 
a 
word, 
the 
film 
is 

overdramatic. Edgerton doesn’t 
implore us to consider his message. 
He waves it in front of our noses 
until we have no choice but to accept 
it. This is accurately exemplified by 
the movie’s perplexing score by 
Danny Bensi and Saunder Jurriaans 
(“Barry”). While agreeably light 
and mellifluous in more intimate 
moments, the score occasionally 
transforms into a ridiculous ticking 
heartbeat that sounds like a Nine 
Inch Nails song recreated on 
GarageBand and more fitting for a 
B-movie horror flick. 

That being said, “Boy Erased” 

is a story that is overdue and needs 
to be shared. Despite the film’s 
faults, it exposes the lasting harm 
of conversion therapy in a more 
visceral and visual way than has 
been shown before. What could 
have been an intensely moving 
story about an individual facing 
a collective struggle, it lacked the 
nuance of a single boy’s story or the 
depth of a nationwide issue. And yet, 
conversion therapy being depicted 
on a large screen is a notable step 
towards educating viewers about its 
harm. As the film tells us before the 
credits, 700,000 people have gone 
through gay conversion therapy at 
some point in their lives. Hopefully, 
this movie will alert its viewers — 
and politicians — to the destructive 
nature of such programs in the 36 
states that still allow them. 

Flawed ‘Boy Erased’ still 
delivers poignant message

ANISH TAMHANEY

Daily Arts Writer

FOCUS FEATURES

“Boy Erased”

Focus Features

The Michigan 

Theater

ISLAND RECORDS

There are many ways to mess up 

a thriller that begins with a slew 
of characters thrown together 
under 
unusual 
circumstances. 

Introduce too many characters 
at once and readers will have no 

way to remember who is who. 
Introduce them in the same way, 
and 
a 
formulaic, 
predictable 

pattern will develop that bores 
readers and make them want to 
find something else to do with 
their time. In her latest novel, 
“Nine Perfect Strangers,” Liane 
Moriarty (the author of the 2014 
bestseller “Big Little Lies”) paces 
the introduction of her characters 
perfectly 
and 
finds 
amusing 

ways to gently remind readers 
who is who and exactly why they 
are important, proving she has 
mastered the art of such a story.

It all starts with a heart 

attack. Masha Dmitrichenko is 

a charismatic, alluring woman 
familiar with the stress and bad 
habits that come along with the 
fast-paced world of business. 
After she undergoes cardiac arrest 
and almost dies, she is inspired 
to change her life by opening a 
wellness resort, which she dubs 
“Tranquillum House.” The novel 
tells the tale of nine individuals 
who sign up for the Tranquillum 
House’s 10-day wellness retreat 
in Australia. The story focuses 
on Frances Welty, an established 
romance writer who is struggling 
to adapt to the changing publishing 
industry and other trials that come 
along with aging. 

Frances is soon joined at the 

resort by a cast of other characters 
all grappling with their own 
problems: a has-been football 
player, a couple struggling to 
salvage their marriage, an insecure 
mother of four abandoned by her 
husband for a younger woman 
and a family trying to repair their 
lives after a suicide tears them 
apart. Each chapter is told from 
the point of view of a rotating 
cast of characters. Through a 
combination of flashbacks and 
present 
day 
events, 
readers 

begin to piece the lives of each 
character together and gain a deep 
understanding of who they are as 
a person. Each person is relatable, 
intriguing 
and 
painstakingly 

human and their stories are woven 
together in a way that makes 
readers hungry to know more 
about them.

Most of the novel is focused on 

the events that take place at the 
Tranquillum House. The guests 
endure fasting, extended periods 
of silence and other lifestyle 
changes promised to transform 
the guests. Moriarty is able to 
make seemingly small interactions 
and 
commonplace 
moments 

entertaining and riveting, as if they 
are not commonplace, but crucial. 
Even as the story goes on and it 
becomes clear the Tranquillum 
House and the ethereal Masha are 
not all they seem to be, the focus 
remains on the humanity of the 
guests. Such a focus allows readers 
to connect with the characters and 
know them on a level that would 
not otherwise be possible.

“Nine 
Perfect 
Strangers” 

is 
a 
well-developed, 
detailed 

novel about recovery and the 
transformative power of human 
connection. It raises questions of 
whether or not a person can truly 
move on from despair and loss, 
or if they even should. It tackles 
issues of body image, material 
possession and mental health. 
More than that, it presents readers 
with realistic and vulnerable 
characters, which makes for an 
intimate and moving story.

In ‘Nine Perfect Strangers,’ 
Moriarty showcases talent

SOPHIE WAZLOWSKI

Daily Arts Writer

BOOK REVIEW

“Nine Perfect 

Strangers”

Liane Moriarty

Flatiron Books

Nov. 6, 2018

It’s almost 

as if the band 

is making a 

painful effort 

to be more 

appealing in the 

modern market 

by sacrificing 

what may be 

deemed too 

“old-fashioned” 

for a global 

audience 

dominated 

by the loud, 

dramatic 

thunderstorms 

of sound we 

know as pop 

6A — Monday, November 19, 2018
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

