This journey doesn't start from a story or a scene, but from sounds, feelings and the correspondences between them. The sounds belong to a more heterogeneous-than-ever handful of bands that have defined the last five years: Arcade Fire, Sigur Rós, múm, Sufjan Stevens and others, more or less well-known. The feelings, on the other hand, converge around a shared sensibility that I'd sum up in one word: chorality.

Singing together…

The term already points to certain musical traits: melodicism, a passion for vocal harmonies; but even before that, it suggests the idea of sharing, the spirit of a community expressing itself through song.

It's precisely this reborn communal feeling that brings together such different musical experiences, and many elements besides the vocal one help express it.

The intimate, comforting mood goes hand in hand with the tonal palette: plenty of acoustic instruments (violin, accordion, piano, tambourines); clean guitar built on simple chords, in a “song around the campfire” vein; in the latest múm and Sigur Rós records, also little domestic noises, imprecise sounds, hand claps.

Echoing this warmth is a sense of childlike purity and serenity, carried by crystalline, tinkling notes: bells, glockenspiel, tambourines, often paired with limpid guitar lines in the style of Explosions In The Sky; toy instruments and folktronic ingredients sometimes amplify the effect even further (múm, Efterklang).

On the opposite end of the emotional spectrum, the expanded line-ups reproduce music's collective dimension, which transcends the personal and bonds of friendship to give rise to a network of virtuous, dynamic connections. Oversized bands manage to master such instrumental richness precisely because they're driven by a strong collaborative spirit: the different instruments trace the map of a sonic village where roles integrate without treading on one another.

The simple, good and true character of the ideals evoked is highlighted by the reference to tradition — in the instrumentation, but also in the melodies and harmonies, which echo, at times even explicitly, the patterns of folk music. In a couple of cases (Sufjan Stevens, Anathallo), it's the reference to a Christian matrix that serves this function.

From the interweaving of these elements comes an anti-intellectual, anti-metropolitan music that once again places social relationships and a sense of belonging at its centre. This is the deepest distinction between this music and post-rock as originally defined by Reynolds in 1995: while the post- abstracted rock not only from its physicality but also from its human warmth, the choral tendency of recent years returns to a participatory dimension.

In this sense, there's room for a renewed interest in rurality and connection to the land, as well as themes of degrowth and sustainable development. The choral imagery looks to a pre-industrial, pre-urban way of life, but the presence of electric or electronic elements (sometimes quite prominent) shows that this "return to the past" doesn't mean rejecting technological and digital progress. The model lies instead in small Scandinavian communities and their eco-socialism: it's no coincidence, after all, that several bands come from the countries of northern Europe.

...marching together...

The desire for shared, peaceful, "grassroots" change also explains the brass-band component found in many groups: the marching step marked out by the snare drum doesn't evoke armies, but the village band parading together on festival day. The gentle, triumphant journey toward improvement is the cornerstone of the choral imagery, and it's reflected in the crescendo structures that so many have borrowed from Canada's Godspeed You Black Emperor!: the musical climax corresponds to the swelling of the procession, an ever-growing number of people recognising themselves in the cause and joining the march.

Two music videos stand out as emblematic: Arcade Fire's "Rebellion (Lies)" and Sigur Rós's "Glósóli". The first opens on the trees of a Canadian town and shows the band in procession through the streets; kids and children join the parade, which then enters people's homes to symbolise the reclaiming of everyday life. In the final sequence, the group of young people rushes into the woods following the band and stages a liberating game among the autumn leaves, in full reunion with the natural world.

"Glósóli" directly depicts a march of children, set against Iceland's barren, otherworldly landscape. It all begins with a single boy, who calls others to him with the sound of a parade drum. Dressed in clothes from another era, the kids cross a deserted road, pull some of their peers away from acts of vandalism born of boredom, and rebuild crumbling stone markers as they pass. They then sleep, hand in hand, stretched out on the rock, and finally reach a green meadow overlooking a cliff. In an intensely powerful sequence, they run together toward the cliff edge and, unexpectedly, begin swimming through the air, rising above the ocean.

In both videos, the neo-indie aesthetic of blurred, sepia-toned, autumnal imagery combines with an epic quality aimed at turning delicate, essentially harmless suggestions into powerful surges of emotion.

The Sigur Rós video also brings out another important trait of their music and of the choral approach in general. Alongside the crescendos that build to full intensity, calmer passages signal moments of reflection. It's music whose tempo bends to that of choices, whether collective or individual. Or, as emerged in a recent interview with Örvar Þóreyjarson Smárason (múm), they are long instants in which "things around you take on a different light, seem more alive and interconnected". Örvar says he lives for these small everyday epiphanies, and does everything he can to convey them in his music.

The emotional flow driven by the "atmospheric shifts" typical of the soft/loud dynamics of Mogwai, GYBE! and Explosions In The Sky is thus expressed in "choral" music within a warmer, more human context, translating the crossroads and small magic of everyday life into sound.

...toward a new folk

Coming back to the vocals, there's a clear, easygoing melodicism that doesn't shy away from refinement but strives to stay simple, non-virtuosic. Male and female voices alternate constantly, in an enchanting interplay of countermelodies, overlaps and harmonies. The hushed, half-whispered volume of many passages keeps the blend from overwhelming the listener, instead enveloping them, cradling them, making them part of it.

Again in the words of Örvar Þóreyjarson Smárason: "we would have a far better world if we accepted opening up, singing together with others songs we don't yet know. Even when afraid or unsure of what to do, everyone should sing along with others, be an active part of something shared, of the world".

A substantial difference then emerges with other "expanded bands" (in sound or lineup) populating the recent musical landscape. An aestheticising taste prevails in the late-Sixties throwbacks of Decemberists, Shins, Fleet Foxes and Polyphonic Spree. The impression given by the "choral" acts, on the other hand, is that in singing they're expressing a feeling that transcends them and speaks to an entire community. This brings them closer, in some ways, to the "represent" ethos of classic hip-hop than to the usual indie logic — let alone the spirit of the pop star.

Indeed, a significant portion of the music involved sits in the middle ground of the so-called midstream: pop that spreads by word of mouth and only rarely relies on the major media. It's this grassroots vocation for sharing, together with the invocation of a close bond with the land, that makes this music the heir, for the decade now drawing to a close, to the role once played by folk music.

Listening guide

More than bands, records; sometimes even single songs. Choral music doesn't take shape as a unified scene, let alone a movement: it's more of a cross-cutting lens, running under the surface, without pulling the artists who embody it away from their own musical paths.

So, not only is it hard to find a "manifesto" of the tendency, but even the most relevant names touch on it for only a limited part of their career. For some, the experience is already behind them or absorbed into other styles; for others, it comes to light precisely in their latest releases.

The impression, in any case, is that there has never been, and never will be, an explosion of a "choral phenomenon". It's a shame to highlight this trait d'union only now, with the game more or less over.

"Funeral" is the debut album by Montreal's Arcade Fire, and needs no introduction, being one of the albums of the decade. It's worth noting, however, its theatrical choral quality, a "side effect" of the many influences it gathers: between Bowie-esque melodrama and the arena-rock epic inherited from U2, there's also room for the communal spirit, the folk pull and the crescendo dynamics of fellow Montrealers Godspeed You Black Emperor!. Intensity and delicacy combine, giving rise to rock stagings of private dreams; as with the great classics, these resonate with collective sensibility, giving birth to a new popular mythology.

Several bands have followed in the Canadians' footsteps. Worth mentioning are London's Fanfarlo, whose debut "Reservoir" strips the Arcade Fire style of its urgency and theatricality, arriving at a sound full of instrumental swells but lightened by a romantic, pleasantly retro mood. The reinterpretation offered by Malajube, also from Montreal, is equally fascinating: the tracks on "Labyrinthes" are progressive mini-suites that amplify the imaginative charge of the "Funeral" formula; the use of the French language and the veiled folkloric references also give the album an elegant, European air.

Another key band on the Montreal scene are Silver Mount Zion. They emerged from the ashes of Godspeed You Black Emperor!, and their music was initially a sparser, more compact and irregular version of it. Their last two releases, "Horses In The Sky" and "13 Blues For Thirteen Moons", significantly bring vocals to the fore: a frail voice, often cracked, but capable of explosive surges, and — above all — very often joined by the singing of the whole band. The folk pull is at the forefront: a lineup largely made up of strings, extensive use of gypsy scales; but this pairs with noise-rock abrasiveness and a tendency toward expansion and minimalism inherited as much from post-rock as from Polish composer Henryk Górecki. It's from the latter that the spiritual tension animating the pieces also seems to come: waves of enormous emotional impact, which on "13 Blues for Thirteen Moons" reach a cathartic potential close in intensity and manner to the evolved screamo of Circle Takes The Square and City Of Caterpillar.

The musical journey of Icelandic outfit múm begins in the Berlin glitch scene, gradually moves toward folktronica, and arrives, with "Go Go Smear The Poison Ivy" and "Sing Along To Songs You Don't Know", at a choral dimension. In the free-form songs of these two albums, a playful, easygoing spirit coexists with electronic wanderings and an instrumentation expanded toward traditional folk territory. Halfway between nursery rhymes and lullabies, the songs float in that perennial wonder that fills a child's gaze: they propose a return to the simple magic of childhood as the basis for a social rebirth.

Initially, Danish band Efterklang also looked to German indietronica (Notwist, Lali Puna), but "Parades" projects them into rich, layered soundscapes, with crystal-clear vocal harmonies and a symphonic approach that marries electronics and acoustic timbres. The result is hyper-detailed watercolors, perennially balanced between intimate tensions and centrifugal bursts of color.

Sigur Rós are the most followed Icelandic band of the decade. Their post-rock/dream-pop fusion started out in abstract, melancholy territory, before discovering, on "Takk", a strong epic potential. The album emphasizes crescendo dynamics and rhythmic drive; it also pairs sunny, liberating moments with the desolation evoked by strings and dreamy chants. The following "Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust" marks a clear turn toward song form, putting orchestral colors and vocal harmonies center stage. The fascination with the traditional and childlike world is brought to the fore by folk instincts and a playful spirit akin to that of múm.

Several bands on the Icelandic scene of these years feature lineups expanded with strings and horns, a curiosity for folklore and its forms, and a lively, delicate pop spirit. "Sleepdrunk Seasons" by Hjaltalín, in particular, comes close to Arcade Fire with a chamber-music palette and a refined touch, combining indie dynamism with belle époque frivolity.

"Illinois" by Sufjan Stevens is a key album for American songwriting in recent years. Among its many reference points, the christian folk tradition stands out, along with the ecstatic minimalism of Steve Reich and Philip Glass, and the visionary intimacy of psychedelic singer/songwriters. The album reinterprets them through an orchestral lens, arriving at a formula of great intensity and deeply choral breadth. A profusion of strings, horns, chimes, light and delicate vocal harmonies; highly varied songs that combine introspection and a citational imagination, sketching out a grand communal fresco.

Christian roots are also the starting point for Anathallo, who, struck by the revelation of "Illinois", move from an uncertain, progressive emocore to the choral wonder of "Floating World" and "Canopy Glow". The former is tied to open structures close to the soft/loud dynamics of Explosions In The Sky; the latter fully embraces song form, also revealing unexpected affinities with the hip-pop of Why?. Both, however, are animated by a pure and disarming spirituality, reflected in featherlight interplay of guitar, horns, and call-and-response vocals.

Also close to progressive are the latest works by Canadian band The Most Serene Republic, "Population" and "...And the Ever Expanding Universe". This time, what's filtered through a choral/symphonic lens are the indie-rock of the Arts&Crafts brand (which, with its oversized lineups, can indeed be seen as a forerunner of the trend) and the hyperkinetic post-hardcore of Mars Volta. Instrumental and vocal embroidery turns into the soaring arches of an elegant, vital art nouveau architecture.

Also Canadian are Woodpigeon, whose latest album, Treasury Library Canada, revives the folk-rock of The Band and Fairport Convention with an indie-pop touch. Crystalline guitars, delicate keyboards, and drumming that's always compelling yet understated are the tools of a work of revival that shuns mannerism, revealing instead a dynamic conception of tradition and a strong passion for the collective dimension of music.

“Wolves” by Scottish outfit My Latest Novel is perhaps the most shining example of “choral” attitude among those covered here. The folk/acoustic component is especially prominent, as is the songs' slow-building crescendo. There's also a rustic, spartan streak that indirectly recalls the rural lo-fi of Neutral Milk Hotel (another – deeply ramshackle – "choral" act ante litteram, however unaccustomed to actual choruses). Some tracks, though, bring in slender, refined harmonies closer to the twee-pop of fellow countrymen Belle and Sebastian.

Within the English alt-folk scene, several bands display traits of this new choral sensibility. In many cases, though, this owes less to a shared approach than to a common traditional heritage. The case is perhaps different for “Peaceful The World Lays Me Down”, the debut album by London's Noah and the Whale. An easygoing take on UK folk that owes more to the breezy approach of Violent Femmes and the looseness of Neutral Milk Hotel than to the genre's classics. Between crescendos with a touch of Arcade Fire and bouts of playful rustic pop, it's the sheer spontaneity that stands out above all.

Loney, Dear's “Loney Noir” develops the choral ideas already endemic to the Swedish twee-pop scene. The atmosphere is warm and welcoming: alongside the strictly acoustic guitar come tinkling percussion, horns and sparkling strings, plus the occasional synth-pop flourish that never undermines the sober charm of this lively, graceful folk-pop.

With I'm from Barcelona (also Swedish, despite the name), it's the convivial, internationalist spirit of Erasmus exchanges and university campuses that forms the "communal" foundation, clearly evident on their debut “Let Me Introduce My Friend”. Spectorian horror vacui, twee delicacy and power-pop flair combine in unison choruses, sugary tones and arrangements that are structurally minimal yet richly textured.

A whiff of the same air can be felt in the electropop of Australia's Architecture In Helsinki. Distinctly urban in spirit, their album “In Case We Die” offers remarkable, unexpected choral touches. A carousel of synth-pop and Hawaiian divertissement makes for an open, boisterous style built on vocal call-and-response, quirky little folk orchestras and even the occasional building crescendo.

Alongside, an essential discography ventures a few recommendations based on strictly personal taste. The videography, meanwhile, tries to highlight each band's "choral" traits through a selection of representative tracks.

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