Enough can be said about this Austin group just by the looking at how their debut was received. Crafted in the most organic sense, Balmorhea was far removed from the prominent post-rock sound that  Austin has long been associated with and instead exposed the gentler underbelly of Texan life, using acoustic instruments to create endearing, heart warming music. The album's charm made it irresistible to many, and certainly garnered a lot of attention for the duo, whose follow up album comes at a relatively short interval.

Balmorhea face a difficult transition between the self-released debut and label-distributed sophomore album, one which is never easy, especially when expectations are exceedingly high. An evolution is surely warranted, expected even, but one that is too ambitious could also be seen as an overreaching, alienating an audience who has already become familiar with their distinct and expressive sound. A disciplinary balance is called for under these circumstances; no one wants the forfeiture of their individual sound for the sake of exploiting richer production, but then again, a complete re-hash of their acclaimed self-titled would be an equal cop-out. Where to find the compromise, the narrow strip of middle ground?

Much like the self-titled, Rivers Arms is structured into interspersed clusters, each presenting individual solo displays from a piece of acoustic instrumentation, namely the piano and acoustic guitar. From the debut, “If You Only Knew the Rain” easily bears the strongest presence on Rivers, channelling much of its affective Tiersen-esque anthemism onto the new set of piano-based pieces. “Lament” serves as the opener for the piano series, poignant melodies feeling almost like it had segued from the aforementioned piece. “Theme No. 1” features a recurring piano motif ornamented by strikes of an overlaying melody. It is “Barefoot Pilgrims,” however, which is the strongest piano-based serving on this record: a darker, brooding serenade which builds and eventually spills into allegro-paced, ivory-belted melodies, complemented by a harmony of strings.

The acoustic guitar series on Rivers demonstrate maturity. “The Summer” is no misnomer, illustrated by the brisk pace of the arpeggios similar to “En Route,” while exhibiting the lively, free-spirited vibe of said season. It might just be my ignorance as a non-American, but it seems far too natural that these Texans have not neglected to include the distinct flavour of the Old West, answered by the acoustic guitar on “Greyish Tapering Ash” (a laborious trek through the American West, stalked by the sounds of locomotives) and “Divisadero” (a celebration of youth in the West, roaming the farm in high spirits watching rain trickle into the rusty steel water tank). Final acoustic guitar and penultimate track “Windansea,” the name of a beach in San Diego, holds imagery most apt, allusions left to the mere whisper of the words ‘wind’ and ‘sea’ to conjure this gem in its raw form. Musically, it is left completely unmolested, no alluding sound effects, no other instrumentation, just layer upon layer of itself to cultivate a dazzling, ever-evolving series of arpeggios, standing out above the rest of its acoustic brethren on this longplayer.

Rivers Arms is strengthened enormously by those elements that define its transition from the eponymous debut.  The prolonged running time adds to the expectation of evolution, and so the theme of its original structure—the showcasing of individual solo displays transplanted directly from the self-titled—is refined to incorporate pieces layered synergistically, rather than antagonistically, with a newly inducted and befitting string component (specifically the violin and cello) to create a richer, fuller, less basic sound. The opener, “San Solomon”, is a declaration of this, demonstrating in sheer breathtaking fashion the inauguration of this endeavour to grow, and with all but the world resting on its shoulders, it succeeds amidst a rich celebration of harmonies. With the dial set to austerity, “The Winter” wistfully layers an electric guitar (another debut instrument) and cello, with the violin and piano later prominently consolidating a similar display of synergy which still delivers the essence of Balmorhea’s music faithfully. They then proceed to knock around a few anomalies, en route to again transcending the debut. “Context,” a tightly wound package of noise, church bells, door creaks, and untuned string bowing, serves as the precursor to “Process,” a largely ambient piece that somewhat felt to be mislaid on this record due to its use of reverb and slurred tones (complete anomalies for Balmorhea). It’s no less a beautiful piece, soaking in a delicate subtlety akin to a dawn reminiscing of an Ingmar Bergman picture, almost coupled with parallels to the sacred minimalism of legendary Estonian composer, Arvo Pärt.

Rivers Arms is about change. For good or for bad, more than often it is something we are reluctant to face. The self-titled's recording in low fidelity has always been praised as having a bashful charm to it (understandable considering this style has formed an entire movement) and Balmorhea milk it blissfully. Enter a studio, and the fidelity improves dramatically, but at what most would agree is the expense of the charm. But is it really?

-Mac Nguyen