“Free” began without words, which is the best possible way for a song about release to begin. It arrived as a musical theme, a shape in the air that Lars Zebregs, Bo Bodewitz and Raf Jansen chased until it settled. The lyrics came later, and they have the sense of having been discovered rather than composed. They never pin themselves to a single story. Instead they leave a door ajar on that peculiar half-second when one chapter ends and the next hasn’t yet made up its mind. It is a generous way to write a song, and a rare one. Most singers will tell you exactly what they feel. Zebregs lets you find out what you feel.<\/p>
That generosity extends to the sound. The Meir sit somewhere between alternative pop and rock, and “Free” occupies the middle of that territory with real assurance. It is melodic enough to lodge itself in the head on the first listen, yet it never flattens itself into radio-friendly beige. The arrangement breathes. Zebregs’ vocal, which carries the ache of someone singing to himself in an empty church, is set against piano and keys that shimmer rather than shout. Bodewitz’s bass keeps the floor warm, Charl Dijkhoff’s drums build and withdraw with a sense of drama, and Jeroen Kraneveld’s guitar adds colour rather than clutter. Then the song opens out, as promised, into something large and weatherish, and you realise the intimacy of the opening was a setup for the swell.<\/p>
Raf Jansen, who produced and mixed the record as well as co-writing it, deserves particular credit. Modern production so often means polishing until the fingerprints vanish. Jansen keeps the fingerprints and lets the smudges glint. The result sounds expensive without sounding sterile, a trick that eludes bands with ten times the budget. Ardie van Beek’s mastering keeps the dynamics intact, so the loud parts feel earned and the quiet parts feel private.<\/p>
The band describe their method as serving the music rather than directing it, which could easily curdle into pretension on paper. On record it is simply true. “Free” has the loose-limbed inevitability of a song that was allowed to become what it wanted to be. Nothing feels forced, and no chorus is bolted on out of anxiety. The sense of trust between the players is audible, as though they’ve been friends for years and only just noticed the fact.<\/span><\/p> Nor is it a bad calling card. “Free” was chosen to introduce the band because it sits close to the centre of their sound, and as a first handshake it is firm, warm and faintly mysterious. It also whets the appetite for *INFINITE*, the twelve-track album to follow, and for the vulnerability and emotional depth the band promise there. If this is the gateway, the house behind it must be worth visiting.<\/span><\/p> Not every debut needs to reinvent the wheel. Some simply need to roll beautifully, and “Free” does. It is a graceful, affecting and quietly ambitious piece of work from a band who have plainly learned that patience makes for better songs than panic does. The Netherlands has produced its share of fine alternative acts, and The Meir have just put in a serious claim to join them.<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
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