Gimme Friction
J. Edward Keyes on Shuffle
Somehow Hallelujah, the patron saint of hundreds of Hold Steady songs, tripped past her usual borders and fell smack in the center of "Thrash Unreal," the best song on the flawless fourth record by Florida anarcho-punkers Against Me! (exclamation theirs). She's easy to spot, "messed up on the wrong guys/ messed up on the wrong drugs," trying once more in vain to rave against the dying night. It doesn't work, of course; the sun comes up and she wakes up alone, but the sentiment — the incredible expenditure of energy to alter an unalterable outcome — serves as a handy summary statement. New Wave is Against Me!'s first foray into the majors, and like most quasi-communists who sign on the line, they're feeling a little conflicted. The first thing Tom Gabel sings is: "We can control the medium," and the rest of the record is given over to criticizing the corporation they work for and cutting down those who don't. What saves New Wave from sanctimony, besides its endless irresistible hooks, is the fact that Against Me! doesn't have a whole lot of illusions about their effectiveness. At the record's halfway point comes a song called "White People for Peace," a blistering account of cultures at war. Most early reviews read the song straight, but it's hard not to hear a bit of cynicism bleeding through the borders of Gabel's voice as he sings over and over again: "Protest songs/ in response to military aggression." Tellingly that verse, instead of resolving to the major, dips a sickening half-step down.
Against Me!
New Wave
(Sire)
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Spoon
Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
(Merge)
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That same downward spiral is followed by Britt Daniel in his own plea for clemency, one in which he begs "Don't make me a target!" as a taut guitar riff provides a helpful thumb for the noose-tying. The big thrill in Spoon songs comes not from the way songs are assembled but from the way they're taken apart. By clearing out the underbrush, Daniel & Co. have revealed some fascinating details, like the mellotron squirming in the shadows of "Black Like Me" or the scraps of sound strewn across "Eddie's Ragga." The trouble this time, though, is that it occasionally feels like a thesis — meticulously blueprinted songs that offer marvelous construction but skimp a bit when it comes to design. "Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga" is a work of immaculate engineering, like a roller coaster or a really nice watch.
You can control the medium: jedwardkeyes.com.
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