By Jesse Cataldo

It’s easy to imagine Colin Meloy watching the History Channel and taking notes, a tattered 19th century thesaurus and a copy of Wuthering Heights by his side. Each song he writes is a fully functioning miniature Victorian novel, filled with romance, intrigue, and words that haven’t been spoken in years. Regular listeners won’t even bat an eye when he rhymes folderol with chaparral.

There are certainly a good number of artists who can delve seamlessly into history and make it sound believable. Meloy isn’t one of them, but we let him get away with it, because he’s generally clever, kind of nerdy and wholeheartedly earnest. His nasally voice plunges into each piece with the zest of a pimply teenager writing King Arthur fan fictions.

Picaresque, the band’s fifth album, is where the shtick (yes, it’s contrived enough that we can call it a shtick) begins to wear thin. How many times can we hear Meloy spin tales about noble beggar boys and lovelorn sailors before the whole thing turns into ridiculous self parody? Still, Meloy is so serious about his characters that you might even start blaming yourself for not liking it. After all, he and the rest of the gang of presumed oddballs and history nuts aren’t doing anything different. The sound returns to that of previous albums, proving that the folk metal experimentation of The Tain was (unfortunately) nothing more than an accidental burst of creative energy in a bizarre direction.

The greatest negative to Meloy’s lyrics is the barrier they create between the listener and the subject matter. By placing each song in such a far-off, almost fairy-tale setting, any connection the audience may have had is destroyed at the expense of novelty. Even “The Sporting Life,” which utilizes a modern setting, is so burdened by anachronisms and flowery prose that it just sounds silly. Only the strongest moments of genuine emotion manage to burst through the thick paraffin coating (see, it’s not that hard). “The Bagman’s Gambit” is a touching love song that reaches its peak in a line devoid of archaic lyricism, as Meloy ends the song with “it was ten years on / when you resurfaced in a motorcar / and with a wave of an arm you were dead and gone.”

If things continue this way, a “where are they now” special in ten years may just find Meloy and company employed at a Renaissance fair or a civil war reenactment troupe. Just try and not feel guilty for not buying Picaresque.