The pseudo-ballads that Malkmus only half-succeeded at on Terror Twilight are executed perfectly here. "Church on White," "Deado" and "Vague Space" are beautifully textured, shimmering romantic efforts. "Church" and "Deado" have an affectionate sincerity that's refreshing from the sarcastic jester. In these and the majority of his new songs, there's a subject, but unlike before, we get what it is.
As an album, Stephen Malkmus lacks an immediate statement not present in the songs; there is no sum greater than that of its parts. Yet the ironic hero is even more familiar after listening to his accomplished and personal record.
With his self-titled album, Malkmus won't just win over the Pavement fans skeptic of his solo efforts, but continue to gain throngs of fans and friends like he always has.
Brian Millikin
Crooked Fingers
Bring on the Snakes
4 Stars
The Archers of Loaf were a great rock band, but not beautiful. Eric Bachmann, the local group's leader, played a mean guitar and displayed a good ear for songwriting -- but nothing truly spectacular.
That's why the stunning beauty of Crooked Fingers, Bachmann's new project, comes as such a pleasant surprise. Crooked Fingers' 2000 self-titled debut album was an amazing departure for Bachmann, delving into barroom ballads and dust bowl songs of despair.
The folk-tinged melancholia hasn't changed much on his second album, Bring on the Snakes. Bachmann is still wandering around sad song-stories about people who have brushed his life, but now he's actively involving himself.
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It's a more complex album than his first, in theme and execution. Thick, swirling images litter Bachmann's musical landscape, bringing his songs to life with bitter and visceral pictures. His grainy poetry is hard to diffuse at first, but the music remains captivating with repeated listens.
Bachmann's voice immediately draws attention to itself; he sings with a growl not unlike Leonard Cohen, or Tom Waits with a pop twist. His raspy, thick delivery has a quality of realism to it; he sounds like he's stuck in the same mire as his songs' struggling characters.
"The Rotting Strip," a song skewering a dead-end relationship sprung from a romantic junkyard, is the actual and ideal introduction to the album. The electronic chimes that replace the violins of the first album sound loudly, but give off only emptiness -- the song seems stark and full at once.
Bachmann's acoustic side is indulged throughout, in songs like "Devils Train" and "Summer Is Treason," gorgeous laments on love and sacrifice. Electronic tones and samples blanket "Doctors of Deliverance" and "Every Dull Moment," and the vacant dusty mood is only enhanced. If his first album was orchestral in flavor, this is metallically lush.
The songs themselves, however, don't always live up the promise of Bachmann's sonic efforts. There's nothing as instantly memorable as "New Drink for the Old Drunk" or "Under Sad Stars" were on the first record. With only eight songs on Bring on the Snakes, the overall appeal suffers from lack of hooks that truly jump out of their settings.
Bring on the Snakes is a ghostly, lonely album, but there's an uplifting edge, a heart to the songs that hasn't been there before. The songs are hopeful, not mournful. If Bachmann's first Crooked Fingers album was a trip to the bottom, this is him crawling towards the light.
Brian Millikin
Vitamin C
More
2 Stars
Many are quick to dismiss Vitamin C's Colleen Fitzpatrick as another teeny-bopper cashing in on the music industry's fixation with pop ingenues and boy bands. And one would not be completely wrong to do so.
Her sophomore effort, More, is characterized by the same sleazy grooves, soulless dance beats and sugary hooks as the Backstreet/Spears crowd.
But Vitamin C is no dummy. Underneath all the production, breathy vocals and cheesy choruses that fill More, there lies a performer who is conscious of the roots of the current wave of teen pop. In fact, half the album almost seems out of time.
A good handful of More's songs resonate with the same kind of weepy charm that was prevalent in late '80s dance-pop. Which is not surprising, given that Fitzpatrick is 10 years older than most of her colleagues. There are also moments of melodic bliss in many of the songs that suggest Fitzpatrick is a fairly skilled pop songsmith.
But for every moment of ironic charm that exists on More, there are two moments of embarrassing, nauseating, sleazy teen-funk. The first single, "The Itch," is one such insipid moment. The song quickly moves from an intro of processed start-stop rhythms and sampled breaths into an empty gurgling chorus. Given the arrangement, the song feels tired even before the listener is through the first verse.
Elsewhere, similar arrangements ruin what could have been an album of enjoyable pop naivete. But the worst cut is the remake of The Waitresses' 1982 single "I Know What Boys Like."
The depth and humor that made the original so entertaining is lost on Vitamin C, who transforms the song into an unlistenable medley of giggles, bubbly synthesizers and disco bass.
After this track, halfway through the album, Fitzpatrick never fully regains the listener's trust, and More's credibility and momentum disappears.
Only More's closing track, "As Long As You're Loving Me," regains any semblance of charm with its minimally orchestrated arpeggios and natural vocals. In this song, Fitzpatrick sings, "This is real for me" -- which is surprising, considering most of More seems either drenched in irony or completely rote.
To its credit, More shows potential. Sadly, much of that potential is wasted on songs that are too derivative of everything on the radio today.
With seven producers on board, it seems only natural to assume that Fitzpatrick lost her creative voice in the recording process. One can only hope she'll find that voice next time around.
Michael Abernethy
