The Bottom Line
Seattle's Barsuk Records has once again hit the nail on the head. Or at least they have hit my nail on its head. Or, well, OK. That sounds lewd. I'll put it this way: after the Aqueduct and Menomena releases of the past few months, John Vanderslice's most recent (and 6th) solo album, Emerald City, is next in line for my "favorite of the year." The songs on this album aren't upbeat, nor are they groundbreaking -- but they are driven by sincerity and they are grounded in a way that is deeply fulfilling and impressively honest. And they're pretty. What more can we ask for in our indie rock? (Not much, I'd say.)
- Mellow without dragging
- Stylistically focused & consistent
- Nada
Description
- Vanderslice is famous for his bay area studio, tiny telephone. In terms of production values, it shows...
- ...the album is impeccably produced. Each drone, each twinkle, each guitar wail and strum, matches the emotional timber...
- ...of the song it's placed in. In addition, Vanderslice isn't afraid to open his songs up -- to the meandering, the...
- quiet, the unembellished. Some of my favorite moments on the record are when Vanderslice himself seems to leave the room...
- ...and all that's left is a wall of guitar, fuzz, keys, cymbal and understated rock goodness.
Guide Review - John Vanderslice "Emerald City"--Album Review
When, on the second to last track on Emerald City, John Vanderslice repeats the refrain "I've never been lonelier" over and over again, you can't help but want to hum -- not sing -- along. The song, "Numbered Lithograph," is the shortest on the album (coming in at 2:22 seconds) and recounts a number of instances of loneliness of varying degrees and intensities. It ends with this simple and non-dramatic image: "The boy recoiled as he got out of the heated pool. It was midnight." Implication? He was lonely. It's a moving and uncharacteristic image for a pop song. Is it effective? Yes.
Even without describing the angular finger percussion and the rhythmically strummed acoustic guitar that gives the track it's emotional pulse, you can almost understand the underplayed and undramatic emotions Vanderslice has chosen to explore in Emerald City. And it is those moments of quiet, minor disgrace -- and the accompanying somber, simple music that illustrates them -- that this album is so masterful at exploring and at making beautiful.
Put this album on first thing in the morning, when the sky is still overcast and the day might be slow to gain momentum (if it gains it at all). Vaderslice isn't playing with the equivalent of musical "kid gloves" -- his melodies just have the sensitivity of someone who is trying to understand how fragile the world can be without breaking it in the process.
Listen to Emerald City when you want to think about heartbreak a few months after a break-up; when you're sighing, not crying; when you're smiling, not grinning; on Tuesday morning, not Monday. It may be the perfect album for all those in-between states and mildly glorious, usually forgotten moments of daily mortality and doubt.
