CANT: "Ghosts"

People Who Like Grizzly Bear really like Grizzly Bear, routinely make generalizations about the soullessness of People Who Don’t Like Grizzly Bear, and, when asked anything about Grizzly Bear, especially anything that pertains to their live show, answer in hyperbole laden with the giddy, brace-faced spittle of a 13-year-old Youtube commenter. On the other hand, People Who Don’t Like Grizzly Bear spend most of their days in dank, windowless rooms, stewing in their own cynicism and trying to come up with puns that recognize that the second word in the band’s name sounds a lot like “bore.” By now, you are quite familiar with the rift, and while the battle lines are well defined, are they insurmountable? Believing that their live show was enough to make a detractor go rogue, last month I (of the hyperbolic persuasion) offered my friend (of the soulless persuasion, but also the coiner of the respectably un-obvious epithet “Snoozily Bear”) a ticket to see them with me in Philly. He accepted, enjoyed himself immensely, and—in a turn of events about which I will gloat for the rest of my life—spent a couple of hours after the show yammering giddily about how good they are live.

Grizzly Bear make remarkably cohesive songs out of disparately textured pieces. The most interesting thing about watching them live, we both agreed, is how each of the four members look and sound like they are playing in four different bands and, at times, inhabiting four entirely different universes: Daniel Rossen and his distinct style of guitar playing, which oscillates between the gentleness of delicately plucked notes and the brassy bravado of single, distortion-drenched strums; Ed Droste and his voice so bafflingly gorgeous (somehow even more powerful live than on record) that the wires transmitting it from the mic to the PA must surely get goose bumps; the oft-be-bow-tied Chris Bear with his lyrical, emotive, and wholly unique brand of drumming; then there’s Chris Taylor, fiddling with an on-stage junkyard of static-producing objects, playing more woodwinds than most of us knew existed, and confirming, yes, that really high part deep in the mix of “Knife” that you thought was a guitar? THAT IS A DUDE’S VOICE. My friend told me later that getting lost in the side-stage spectacle of Taylor’s strange world, where all of the subtlest and most haunting parts of Grizzly Bear songs reside, was ultimately what made him re-evaluate his stance on the band.

Taylor’s presence is never the centerpiece of a Grizzly Bear song, but it often provides the sort of layers and detail that make repeated listenings worthwhile. His debut solo track, “Ghosts,” released under the name CANT, gives fans and critics alike an inkling of what he can do given complete creative control, the results hypnotic, dreamy, and—as titularly promised—more than a little bit spooky. With its “oohs,” its “ahhs,” its tambourine hits that occasionally puncture its ethereal atmosphere, “Ghosts” is a lost Motown track slowly unraveling in outer space. On Yellow House (2006) standouts like “Knife” and “Plans,” Taylor sang back up in a falsetto that made Geddy Lee sound like that really cool baritone guy in Boyz II Men (almost), but here, as he croons the refrain, “They couldn’t drown me if I tried,” “Ghosts” proves he’s got ample presence for a front man as well, his vocals displaying a range not really heard before on a Grizzly Bear song

Is “Ghosts” good enough to make deserters of People Who Don’t Like Grizzly Bear? Will it stop them from crafting such puns as “I CANT believe how boring this is”? Doubtful. Its strengths are not so different from Grizzly Bear’s strengths, and people who don’t like those strengths in the first place will not care enough to witness the subtlety of the differences between the two. But, as my turncoat of a friend confirmed, when the spotlight shifts to Taylor, he has the potential to captivate and, even, to change minds. I’m waiting to hear what else he can do.