The Decemberists - 'The Crane Wife' (Rough Trade) Released 29/01/07

If some bands seem to suffer from severe cases of originality deficiency, others appear equipped with an excess of the stuff. Take the Decemberists as an example. Theatrical, super-literate and indie rock sector's lone purveyors of extended historical epics on such untypical topics as chimney sweeps and shipwrecks, the Portland, Oregon five-piece's dedication to creating a mysterious world of their own whilst dodging the mundane, the commonplace and the humdrum is second to none.

Inspired by a Japanese folk tale (which crops up in three separate stabs at a title track, all of them ace), the band's fourth full-length matches the ever-fertile imagination oozing from the grooves of its predecessors, but the enchanting ingredients are that extra bit more refined and fine-tuned this time around. Although reedy-voiced singer-songwriter Colin Meloy's well-read lyrics still sound as if he's devoured a dictionary, the flights of fancy are more focused, the storytelling tighter, the quirks toned down and the overall mood less whimsical than heartfelt. Equally at home with fragile folk and earth-trampling riffola, the band respond to the challenge set by Meloy's titanic tunecraft by rolling forth hooks galore and gliding seamlessly between wildly disparate styles that somehow create a cohesive whole.

The results are nothing short of extraordinary, musically versatile and theme-wise about as far removed from the usual vocabulary of indie rock as possible. Of the standouts, it's impossible to beat 'Yankee Bayonet', a sorrowful pledge of undying love from a fatally wounded Civil War soldier to his sweetheart back at home ("played" by Laura Veirs), the song's aching poignancy enhanced by the track's airy early R.E.M. jangle and breezy singsong harmonies. But 'Perfect Crime #2, a tense noir flick of a song set to suitably jagged indie-disco funk, the Springsteenian pop of 'O Valencia's tragic tale of star-crossed lovers, the accordion-encrusted lovely lilt of 'Summersong' and the Led Zep oomph of the hard-hitting 'When The War Came' aren't far behind. All five are infectious enough to become globe-straddling smashes, but it's not all about strolling to another arena-sized chorus, as evidenced by 'The Island', a 10-minute plus musical suite of pillage, rape and murder in three parts. That the band can make the second section's electrified metal-folk jig sound great tells a lot about the astounding strike rate the Decemberists can currently boast. The proceedings are brought to a close by the communally hollered war-is-over anthem 'Sons & Daughters', a refreshing blast of upbeat optimism after the drama and tragedy the album's contents are drenched with.

By turns brutal and tender, expansive and intimate, ambitious and direct, 'The Crane Wife' is one of those rare platters capable of elevating a band from marginal darlings of the blogosphere to mainstream contenders without resorting to compromises that might scare off their core cult following. Give it enough to time to reveal its full scope of charms, and it might soon become a cherished partner for life.