They share their name with a typically riotous Marx Brothers movie, but Portland’s Horse Feathers are a rather more sober proposition. Centred on the light tones of songwriter Justin Ringle, Horse Feather’s breezy folk tunes are generally pleasant without ever reaching out to really grab the listener. Much of ‘Thistled Spring’, their third album, rattles along prettily enough, all trilling piano, flowing violin and rolling banjo, as Ringle’s paper-thin vocals float over and alongside. There’s the occasional curio in the arrangements, such as ‘Cascades’ deployment of faint musical saw, or the buried backing vocals sunk deep beneath ‘This Bed’, with only the occasional grand swell or silent ebb to disturb the album’s mood. For the large part, however, ‘Thistled Spring’ sticks to an attractive but limited palette. Ringle’s soft, sometimes murmured, lyrics are primarily succinct, poetic sketches of pastoral or domestic scenes, although ‘Vernonia Blues’ sits itself firmly in folk traditions with its description of the perils of the flood-prone Oregon town. The one thing that always makes Ringle and co’s releases a worthwhile prospect is the musicians’ ability to create a reflective or almost saddened tone. This record is no exception; in fact it builds upon the un-rushed progression the songwriter has been demonstrating through his back-catalogue. The absence of any clear, stand-out tracks on ‘Thistled Spring’ marks it down as an album for serious students of contemporary American folk bands, rather than one with much hope or desire to break free of genre or attract casual fans into its stream. Yet this record, like all the band’s material, is a slow burner that may not barge through your consciousness, but rather sit back in the corner and gradually unwind. SH