The secretary bird is (according to Wikipedia) the only bird that walks more than it flies, and it is the only one to hunt its prey on foot. Which might explain why Mike Semple chose the name—because this album is anything but high-flying. Secretary Bird is a singer-songwriter’s intimate, plaintive, indie introspection. Described in the release as sounding like Paul Westerberg and ’70s British rock, I think the band is best imagined as Pete Yorn channeling Joy Division. Semple’s voice is wonderfully resonant and monotonous at the same time; it lulls you along to a resting place that is desolate, bare, and still somehow tragically beautiful. Upon first listen, it seemed that none of the songs had a pulse. It was only at the third listen that I began to realize there were beats in there, and that every song didn’t drone. This is due partly to the darker tone of the songs, partly to Semple’s calm voice, and partly to the fact that he seems to be in no rush. This is an album you listen to at your own risk, because you might find yourself sliding down the rabbit hole with him. Which isn’t necessarily as depressing as it might sound.