The High Llamas - Albums Collection: 'Beet Maize & Corn' (2003); 'Can Cladders' (2007); 'Talahomi Way' (2011)

Although the High Llamas are nominally a group, they're pretty much the brainchild of singer and guitarist Sean O'Hagan. O'Hagan did some time in the London-by-way-of-Dublin band Microdisney, in which he was the songwriting partner of Cathal Coughlan. After Microdisney split in 1988 (Coughlan forming Fatima Mansions), O'Hagan released a couple of import-only solo albums before forming the High Llamas. The Llamas issued their debut, Gideon Gaye, in 1994 to high praise in the British press; it was released in the States a year later almost as an afterthought, with virtually no fanfare. Comparisons of the High Llamas/O'Hagan to Brian Wilson/the Beach Boys are unavoidable, and not just from arcane critics. Anyone with a large Beach Boys collection will detect the uncanny resemblance to 1966-1970 Beach Boys, with the sophisticated melodies, the beautiful harmonies, and the elaborate production, with the emphasis on layered keyboards and orchestration. Echoes of Pet Sounds, Smile, Wild Honey, and Surf's Up predominate, though O'Hagan also claims Burt Bacharach as a major inspiration. The Llamas began to build a bigger and bigger fan base throughout the late '90s (in the US as well as the UK) and O'Hagen's ever-shifting, ever-growing stable of side musicians made sure every album was as beautifully arranged and carefully conceived as the last. Subsequent efforts include 1996's gorgeously sprawling Hawaii, 1997's warmly clinical Cold and Bouncy, and 1999's chilly Snowbug. Buzzle Bee arrived the following year, featuring a more stripped-down sound and guest vocals from Mary Hansen from Stereolab. Before her tragic death in late 2002, O'Hagen had Hansen onboard for the Llamas' chamber-pop masterpiece Beet, Maize & Corn. Virtually eliminating the standard 'electric guitar, bass and drums' formula, Beet, Maize & Corn was full of lilting strings, warm horns and gently plucked classical guitars, and proved to be a high achievement for the Llamas with both critics and fans. Four years later, in 2007, O'Hagen and company revisited the sunny sprawl of Hawaii (as well as Cold and Bouncy's technical slickness) for the upbeat and lovingly crafted Can Cladders. For 2011's Talahomi Way, the band opted for a warmer, more overtly '60s-inspired sound.

Biography by Richie Unterberger, Allmusic.com

The High Llamas are not a band that has ever put a lot of stock in change. They have charted a course that has remained steadfastly true to their intentions of rechanneling late-'60s Beach Boys records through a filter of Steely Dan-styled soft rock and electronic cleverness. Each record since the brilliant Gideon Gaye has been a near carbon copy of the last, an enjoyable copy but still nothing that different. That being said, their seventh album does represent a rather dramatic shift in The High Llamas' sound. Practically gone are electric guitars and synthesizers; in their place are gently strummed acoustic guitars and lush orchestral string and horn arrangements. Songs like "High on the Chalk" and "The Holly Hills" go so far as to dispense with guitars and drums altogether. In fact, only a couple of songs have drums, and they are firmly pushed to the background. The organic sounds give the record a newfound sense of poignancy and grace. They are still unflinchingly clever, but cleverness is no longer the best thing they have going for them. Sean O'Hagan's vocals have never sounded better or more resonant, and he surrounds them with clouds of breathtaking background harmonies (one of the singers is Mary Hansen, who was tragically killed late in 2002). The entire record is overflowing with pastoral beauty that reaches a climax at the end of the record with the one-two heart punch of the truly wonderful instrumental "Monnie" and the sad and majestic ballad "The Walworth River." Beet, Maize & Corn is a dramatic reinvention of The High Llamas; anyone who had written them off as a one-trick pony had better get working on a new edition because that book is dead wrong.

Review by Tim Sendra, Allmusic.com

Sean O'Hagan and the High Llamas have been accused of emulating everyone from Brian Wilson and Burt Bacharach to Steely Dan and Brian Wilson, along with Brian Wilson, as well as Brian Wilson (with a healthy dash of Brian Wilson in there too, for good measure). Really, it's ridiculous, but what's the harm that a few myopic reviewers can't say anything more telling than "Sean's a Brian Wilson clone"? It's a darn high compliment, given the stature Wilson has achieved, and says more about those music critics' inability to see beyond their own "Top Ten albums of all time" than any creative shortcomings on O'Hagan's part. Get off it! Seriously, this is getting ridiculous. If gorgeous arrangements, unusual instrumentation and innocent wit make you Brian Wilson then why doesn't Neil Hannon, Rufus Wainwright (hell…he's even got Van Dyke Parks on his records) and a host of other gorgeously arranged artists get pegged as Wilson wannabes? Could it be that O'Hagan is simply at the top of the heap – that he's the pinnacle? Could he be (gulp) as good as Brian Wilson??!!?! He just might be, thank you very much. Pet Sounds, SMiLE and a scant handful of other prime Wilson works, verses O'Hagan and his ten-plus albums of exquisite beauty and detail could sway the (utterly preposterous and fictional) battle right there. But it is precisely O'Hagan's prolific nature that seems to irk his detractors most. "How can this guy keep cranking out these fab records?" (If four years between some albums can be referred to as "cranking it out") or "he's just coasting." Not likely – but if he is, he's doing so marvelously.

Over the course of their career, the High Llamas successfully combined '60s pop sensibilities with burbling analog synth accents and laid-back, West Coast vibes with a NYC session cat's journeyman aesthetic. Every Llamas album has embraced these creative styles in varying degrees: from Gideon Gaye's decidedly '60s Brit-pop bent, to Hawaii's sprawling and breezy beaches, to Cold and Bouncy's warmly clinical brand of slickness, to Beet, Maize & Corn's detailed chamber pop, the Llamas have succeeded at every slight stylistic turn they have taken. Now, with 2007's Can Cladders, O'Hagan and the Llamas are bringing it all together. Every stylistic element that has ever graced the grooves of their past albums is present here, with synth blurbs and Baroque-via-the-beach string arrangements holding equal footing throughout. Bacharach-ian backing vocals and Wilson-esque instrumentation hold equal ground with Motown rhythms and Steely Dan slick-ery, but the whole thing sounds natural and familiar, rather than over-thought, forced and derivative. Four years in the making, Can Cladders could have come off the presses as an indulgent, overwrought opus. Instead, it simply (but oh-so-craftily) distilled a career's worth of creative tangents into one solid, focused effort that, if you're observant enough, holds its own amongst the likes of the Llamas' comparative "elite."

Review by J. Scott McClintock, Allmusic.com

The aural equivalent of a late spring breeze, Talahomi Way finds Sean O’Hagan and the rest of the High Llamas in a decidedly dreamy state of mind. Interludes like “Angel Connector” drift in and out softly and sweetly, making the band’s previous album Can Cladders sound downright heavy in comparison, and the lush strings and genteel brass and woodwinds on tracks such as “Wander, Jack, Wander” and “To the Abbey” feel like they have as much in common with Burt Bacharach and Nelson Riddle as they do with Brian Wilson. Interspersed with these reveries are fine examples of O’Hagan's pop-craft: “Berry Adams” opens the album with an alluring sparkle; “Take My Hand” captures seaside romance in two-and-a-half minutes; “Talahomi Way” reconfigures the Llamas' Stereolab-ish side into a serene travelogue; and “Fly Baby Fly” flirts with Baroque pop and soft rock. As with almost all High Llamas albums, Talahomi Way's details can speak louder than its actual songs, but this isn’t a criticism: here, O’Hagan and crew use those details to make an album that is equally pastoral and meticulous, and listening to it is like visiting a perfectly arranged topiary garden.

Review by Heather Phares, Allmusic.com