The Shins - Chutes Too Narrow (LP)

Some records feel like postcards from a very specific time and place, and Chutes Too Narrow is one of them. The Shins came into focus in October 2003 with an album that traded the hazy bedroom glow of Oh, Inverted World for crisp, chiming guitars and arrangements that snap into place. Phil Ek worked with the band on production and engineering, and you can hear his touch in the clarity. The sessions ran between Seattle’s Avast! Recording Co. and James Mercer’s home setup, which suits the way these songs move. They’re tight and bright, but still personal, with just enough room noise and finger squeak to keep the human scale.

“Kissing the Lipless” opens like the break of a wave. Mercer’s voice starts fragile and then, in an instant, the band kicks in and the melody bites. It’s the Shins in miniature: bittersweet, hooky, and sneakily intense. “So Says I” follows like a mission statement, all wiry rhythm and tambourine, and it came with that unforgettable animated video by Matt McCormick where penguins act out a Cold War fable. It worked as both a calling card and a proof of concept. This band could be clever without being cute, political without being dour, and catchy without sanding off the more eccentric corners of Mercer’s writing.

The run of songs in the middle is where the album really shows its range. “Saint Simon” nods to baroque pop with featherlight harmonies and keys that glint like glass. “Fighting in a Sack” bounces and jerks with garage energy, a reminder that the Shins came up in clubs where melody still had to compete with feedback. “Pink Bullets” is the ache at the center, the one you put on late at night when the house is quiet. Mercer’s phrasing pulls at each line like a thread. Then “Turn a Square” and “Gone for Good” shift the mood again, the latter leaning into a country lilt with lap steel sighs and one of Mercer’s most cutting breakup lines. “Those to Come” closes the record in a hush, fingerpicked and almost prayerful, an exhale after all that motion.

What makes Chutes Too Narrow stick is how the band tightened the focus without losing the mystery. Reviews at the time heard the step up. Critics from places like Pitchfork and The A.V. Club put it high on their year-end lists, not just because the songs spark on first listen, but because they keep unfolding months later. Part of that is down to the players. Dave Hernandez’s bass lines dance rather than thud. Marty Crandall’s keys color around the edges, always melodic, never fussy. Jesse Sandoval’s drumming is lean and musical. And Mercer, who was already a gifted lyricist, had clearly found new ways to frame his voice. He sings like someone trying to talk himself into being brave.

The album’s look was as striking as its sound. Jesse LeDoux, then with Sub Pop’s art department, designed the cover, all candy colors and sly detail, and the packaging earned a Grammy nomination for Best Recording Package. It fit the music. You could stare at that cover while the needle rode out the groove and keep spotting new little textures, just like you catch an extra guitar curl in “Young Pilgrims” on your fifth listen.

Context matters too. A year later, Garden State would blow up “New Slang,” and suddenly The Shins were a household name. People doubled back to Chutes Too Narrow and found a band already in full bloom. That timing helped, but it’s the craftsmanlike songs that kept folks coming. If you collect The Shins vinyl, this sits right next to Oh, Inverted World as a core piece, and it’s often the one you reach for when you want the band at their most direct. Chutes Too Narrow vinyl also tends to sound great, the separation in the guitars and the air around the vocals coming through on a good setup.

For anyone browsing a Melbourne record store or digging through bins of vinyl records Australia-wide, consider this your nudge. If you plan to buy The Shins records online, start here. It captures why The Shins albums on vinyl still get played to death at home: melodies that feel instantly familiar, lyrics that take their time revealing themselves, and a band in that sweet spot where hunger meets confidence. Twenty years on, it still rings like a bell.