Grizzly Bear - Yellow House (2LP)

Yellow House is the kind of record that sneaks up on you, even years later. Grizzly Bear’s second album arrived in September 2006 on Warp Records, and it marked the moment the project truly became a band. Ed Droste’s intimate debut, Horn of Plenty, hinted at strange beauty, but here you hear a quartet breathing the same air. Daniel Rossen steps in with that knotted guitar style and weathered voice, Chris Taylor acts as resident studio alchemist and multi-instrumentalist, and Christopher Bear brings a patient, orchestral touch to the drums. The title isn’t metaphorical. They tracked much of this at Droste’s mother’s home on Cape Cod, and you can feel the rooms in the recordings, the space between instruments, the hush of a late night when everyone’s trying not to wake the neighbors.

The opener, Easier, eases you in with stacked harmonies and flickers of woodwind. Taylor’s bass clarinet and flute give the album its signature tint, a soft, reedy glow that sits somewhere between folk and chamber pop. Then Knife arrives and everything clicks. That steady pulse, the wordless chant that loops like a beacon, the little guitar stabs that sound almost metallic. It became their calling card onstage, and for good reason. It’s hypnotic, but it also has a bite, a jealous undercurrent that keeps your shoulders tense even as the melody lulls you.

Central and Remote and On a Neck, On a Spit show how far the band could stretch a simple idea without breaking it. Bear’s drumming never grandstands, yet every tom hit feels like a decision. Rossen’s guitar parts tumble and pivot, not flashy so much as exacting, like he’s carving shapes in the air. Plans is the one that always sneaks into my head on quiet mornings. There’s a frail piano line and a vocal that sounds recorded at whisper distance. The whole album holds that balance of cozy and uncanny. It feels domestic. You can almost picture the cables snaking across a wooden floor, the band trading instruments to see what texture will click.

Marla is the emotional curveball. It’s adapted from a song written by Droste’s great-aunt, and you can hear the sepia tone baked right in. The waltz timing and mournful clarinet make it feel like a family heirloom, polished just enough to glow but still carrying the scratches of its age. Little Brother brings a different kind of warmth. The melody is sturdy, almost classic, but the arrangement keeps drifting into odd corners. That was the magic trick here. They made careful, sometimes intricate music that never felt fussy.

Chris Taylor’s production deserves real credit. He helps the band sound big without sounding loud. The mix breathes. Guitars sit next to pianos, next to bells, next to winds, and nothing sputters or crowds. It’s the rare mid-2000s indie record that wasn’t tempted by slickness, even though it came out on a label better known for electronics. Warp giving this strange, home-recorded music a home was part of the charm of that era, when Battles, Grizzly Bear, and others were expanding what the label could mean.

Colorado closes the door with a slow build that feels like walking into night. Voices gather, guitars flicker, percussion swells and then recedes. Not a grand finale, more like the house lights dimming. It turns the whole album into a place you visit, rather than a set of singles. Which is why Yellow House vinyl is such a treat. The room tone, the woody instruments, the small dynamics that digital can flatten, all of it blooms on a turntable. If you’re crate digging and you see Grizzly Bear vinyl, this is the one you want to bring home first, even before Veckatimest. It’s the origin story of the full band, captured in a living room.

This record was welcomed by the indie press at the time, and its reputation has only grown as younger bands chase similar intimate, orchestral sounds. Fans still hold Knife and On a Neck, On a Spit as setlist highlights, but the deep cuts are where the album deepens with age. Put on Plans late at night and tell me it doesn’t change the color of the room.

If you’re looking to buy Grizzly Bear records online, start here. Grizzly Bear albums on vinyl tend to hold their value, and this one’s worth the hunt. I’ve even spotted clean copies hiding in a Melbourne record store, which made a friend back home very jealous. For folks browsing vinyl records Australia shops or flipping through local bins anywhere, Yellow House sits proudly in that sweet spot between classic and cult. It’s a home to return to, needle down, lights low, the band whispering from the next room.