Punch Brothers: subversive strings

Plenty of artists working in the loosely defined field of Americana bring to their craft good intentions, sincere commitment, and enough talent to make compelling music. Then there is Punch Brothers, currently touring behind its latest album, The Phosphorescent Blues (Nonesuch). Eight years, hundreds of shows, and four albums since the band formed, Punch Brothers is at the apex of its game, writing and performing complex music that draws from bluegrass, jazz, alt-rock, and classical.

Having performed together since 2006, guitarist Chris Eldridge, bassist Paul Kowert, banjoist Noam Pikelny, mandolinist and lead singer Chris Thile, and fiddler Gabe Witcher have evolved to the point where sympathetic understanding and intuitive communication are a given. In concert and in the studio, a greater whole is always produced by the sum of the parts.

With The Phosphorescent Blues, the greater whole includes multiple Grammy-winning producer T-Bone Burnett with whom Punch Brothers previously collaborated on the soundtrack to the Joel and Ethan Coen film Inside Llewyn Davis. The result is a collection of songs bound by a theme — the dysfunctional state of perpetual digital connectedness — executed with extraordinary precision and imagination. Though Punch Brothers is a bona fide, rootsy string band, the music is quirky, impressionistic, even surreal at times.

The core of the album is the opening 10-minute track, "Familiarity," a trilogy focused on the foibles and folly of smartphone culture. Thile sets the stage and recounts the action in his trademark high alto voice: "We've come/Together/Over we know not what/A call to prayer ... Or did we dance/Like we might never get another chance/To disconnect."

The song's rhythms and melodies dip and roll like a roller coaster ride. The string players take turns maneuvering through key changes and time shifts, taking off on separate tangents. An instrumental tour de force, "Familiarity" anchors The Phosphorescent Blues deeply in the fathoms of progressive acoustic music.

Elsewhere, things get more cerebral, but no less engaging, with "Passepied," the final movement from Claude Debussy's piano suite Bergamasque. Even within the framework of this well-known classical composition, the Brothers make the music swing like a cool jazz thing and pulse like a bluegrass hoedown. Other songs, such as "Magnet" and "I Blew It Off," come across sounding more like alt-pop-radio candidates — in a good way.

There isn't a hook or an earworm anywhere on The Phosphorescent Blues, but there is an abundance of intriguing, infectious, and beguiling music. One listen will leave you eagerly anticipating the next one, not to mention whet your appetite for a live performance by the musicians who made it happen. (4 out of 5 stars)