Narrow Stairs - Death Cab For Cutie

Narrow Stairs

Death Cab for Cutie
Atlantic Records.

SCQ Rating: 78%

For all its hype of displaying muscular guitars and matured rock songs, sixth album Narrow Stairs opens like their last two: a heavenly bed of ambience quickly topped by comforting guitar tones and a memorable lyric hooked by Ben Gibbard. The song, ‘Bixby Canyon Bridge’, is an encouraging establishing shot, fitting tight to the DCFC mold but lovely in that well-worn skin. Then, a minute-thirty-something in, that polished balladry jumps the cliff in favour of an undercooked electric powerchord and a rising sheet of white noise. That the song survives and rebounds from what initially appears to be the band’s intentional destruction of a typical DCFC template is revealing; this is a band willing to tear themselves apart (let’s face it, ‘Bixby Canyon Bridge’ could’ve been the sad-bastard successor to ‘Transatlanticism’ with drooling fans in tow) and more importantly, rebuilding themselves as something greater.

Not to say that Death Cab for Cutie are unrecognizable here in the least. At their most rebellious, of which the eight-minute lead single is likely the best contender for controversy, the band remain melodically centered and Ben Gibbard sounds ever so pitch-perfect. The change is most apparent in their direction, as songs like ‘You Can Do Better Than Me’, ‘Grapevine Fires’ and ‘The Ice is Getting Thinner’ present a musicianship too laid-back to be labeled emo and themes (the wisdom and regret that come with age) best-suited to their actual generation. Where Plans often felt like a cloning exercise on past achievements, Narrow Stairs is refreshingly honest, a see-sawing work of considerable depth and resonance.

Word is that Gibbard isolated himself along the west coast to write these lyrics, and despite the black period that encouraged this decision, songs like ‘Cath…’ feel well-worth any painstaking travels. ‘No Sunlight’, by far the most poppy, backward-looking track on record, is perhaps the most depressed; a poignant ode to losing the vigor of youth with each passing year. In these instances of Gibbard’s gloom, his band steps confidently forward, adding appropriate doses of eeriness on ‘Talking Bird’ and grandeur to ‘Pity and Fear’s heavy mantra. Even when Gibbard’s trademark nerdiness peers through on ‘Long Division’ in a chorus that worries about becoming “the remainder” of a relationship (get it?!?), the band’s propulsive rhythm will make you sing those locker-scrawled lyrics without hesitation.

Where most bands seek integrity by changing their sound to challenge listeners and perhaps weed out the casual ears, Narrow Stairs takes on an opposing doctrine: rework their faultlessly addictive sound into a record that proves they’ve earned it, so that the only complaints haters can muster is that they’re too easy to listen to. The hype’s half right. Narrow Stairs isn’t the most important record of their career because it’ll make or break them. It’s their most important record because it’s their best.

Virginia EP - The National

Virginia EP

The National
Beggars Banquet Records.


SCQ Rating: 66%

A hard rain is blowing through Toronto tonight, giving the darkest shadows from my balcony a grayish complexion and forcing lone strangers to run from their subway stops home. Sitting alone with a drink on this Friday midnight, watching lightning anticipate its thunderous companion, the Virginia EP has never sounded quite so appropriate. As a near one-year anniversary after the release of Boxer, The National have compiled this celebratory DVD/CD release: a documentary on the making of their now classic 2007 album and a generous EP of B-sides, demos, and live renditions.

Virginia EP’s sequencing makes the most of its arsenal, opening with three B-sides (one previously unreleased, the other two available on UK singles), several demos, a few live tracks and covers thrown in for good measure. Unlike the Cherry Tree EP, which acted as a prelude to the National’s commercial breakthrough, this EP is more of an incentive for die-hard collectors, subdued beyond their trademarked restraints and unabashed at these often unfinished ideas. The clear ruler of these bruised excursions must be ‘Slow Song’, a Boxer demo featured in its incubated stage that showed little chance of becoming the celebrated song we now know and love. That this shambled demo is prefaced by ‘Rest of Years’, another scrapper that likely wouldn’t have gotten the band signed, clearly marks the mid-point of the Virginia EP as a dead-zone, the only unavoidable low-point that will have even superfans reaching for their skip buttons. Such shoddiness should be expected on a release that celebrates roads not taken, but Virginia EP prevails, for the most part, by sticking tight to Boxer’s bittersweet formula.

At its romanticized best, Virginia EP can be viewed as a smoked-out, new National album, a product of the band at its most wearily adventurous following some heavy 5am afterparty. ‘Santa Clara’ and ‘Blank Slate’ are easily LP-caliber material, so much that it’s difficult to resist the urge to mentally fit them among Boxer’s sequencing. ‘Tall Saint’, a demo that supports the fable that the National bravely tossed out all of their pre-existing ideas before recording Boxer, sounds closer to the extroverted rock of Alligator, while the beautiful ‘Lucky You’ displays the NY band at their most fresh-faced and fed-up. The live tracks offer the long-awaited cathartic release that had been ignored all record; the seething majesty of Springsteen’s ‘Mansion on a Hill’ and ‘About Today’s newly explosive conclusion. Strangely enough, the live material congers up conflicting impressions of U2; their chiming guitars and anthemic embellishments, luckily, are blurred, downcast, and finds the National at a crossroads between indie giants and commercial stardom.

Of course, had my “5am afterparty" record actually been the case, this collection would be a disaster; the kind of under-the-rug release only fans on Amazon would be staking as their personal favourite. Here, with all these relics and orphans laid bare, bruised and rejected, the Virginia EP only provides additional enticement to bring this band closer to heart. Few lyricists have presented their scars as compellingly as Matt Beringer; a collection of these mistakes seems utmost fitting for an evening spent alone.

April - Sun Kil Moon

April

Sun Kil Moon
Caldoverde Records.

SCQ Rating: 72%
Wishlist Counterpoint: 78%

Despite the strange and isolated corners my love for music may often occupy, nothing brings me back to my roots like a solid folk record. Upon hearing its subtle moods, its careful strumming, I’m delivered back to my childhood afternoons cradled on the basement couch with my dad’s headphones blaring the music of the 70s. A youth of hearing the James Taylor records of my parent’s comes softly to mind as I listen to Mark Kozelek’s third album under the Sun Kil Moon moniker. Like what you can only expect from the most introspective singer songwriter, April is cloaked in unplugged minimalism and lyrical obscurities; its secrets seeping from repeated listens.

All the same, a Sun Kil Moon record can’t be summed up by the tag-word ‘folk’ alone. With eleven tracks settling at 74 minutes, April is prone to classic rock and slowcore comparisons just as convincingly, the latter clearly dealing with the more superficial issue of running-time. Enough genre-ambiguity ensures April its own territory to shine, and it’s for the best; the Leonard Cohen musings and Neil Young guitar-slaying of opener ‘Lost Verses’ is enough to make anyone give up deciphering how Kozelek might feel about what Dylan did at the Royal Albert Hall forty-odd years ago.

These songs are meant to be heard outside the concrete jungles we’ve grown in, words for the rural expanses you’ve only walked from the passenger seat. ‘The Light’, like all of the LP, is a tight meditation on the guitar riff and how it can breathe relief or stiffen to a tough snarl; Kozelek’s gift is writing a seven-minute song that consistently thrills based on such minimal compositions. Occupying the best of these quiet reflections is ‘Moorestown’s string-drenched play-by-play and ‘Like the River’ (which enlists the fabulous Bonnie Prince Billy on backing vocals).

That these songs rely on repetition also means that your initial reaction to a song’s first minute will likely also be your last. The backwoods eeriness of ‘Heron Blue’, for example, steers clear of April’s usual warmth and tires by the five-minute mark. Although each track lends a hand to April’s unshakably rustic atmosphere, a few dwell in their place for too long and risk reducing the record’s strengths.

In truth, I’ve been delaying this review for a month now, waiting for a weekend up north to properly live out April’s far-reaching introspection. The weathered sand dunes and rain-battered sand of unpredictable May should prove a capable cloud to soundtrack Sun Kil Moon after; the kind of nostalgic reminiscing too manly to accept a tissue over.

Water Curses EP - Animal Collective

Water Curses

Animal Collective
Domino Records.

SCQ Rating: 84%

Strawberry Jam wasn’t hard to approach so much as it was hard to buy. 'Peacebone' was a great lead single and my initial reaction to a few other tracks was overwhelmingly positive but, somehow, I felt like my love for Animal Collective was waning. Hindsight doesn’t help me uncoil why I felt that way but their new material, as brazen and innovative as it was, felt emotionally barren. It’s a mystery I might have to revisit after purchasing Water Curses, an EP that is almost entirely comprised of outtakes from the Strawberry Jam sessions but sounds indebted to the grassy-knolls and wooded vistas of 2005’s gorgeous Feels.

Title track ‘Water Curses’ is the livewire here, a frantic throw-together of several song ideas that only Animal Collective are able to make sense of. An unforgiving assault of musicianship that somehow keeps pace of its complicated pieces, ‘Water Curses’ is closest in energy to ‘Grass’ but sonically latched to the electronic repetitions found on their 2007 LP. Through its final flutters and waves, we’re submerged into Animal Collective’s other forte: tripped out stragglers that wrap you in their psychedelic blend of ambience and effects. And although the EP never resurfaces from this twinkling aquatica, many of its greatest moments are buried and waiting to be found. If the flamboyant opener is considered the most exciting song, ‘Street Flash’ is undoubtedly the EP’s most important; an impressive mood-piece that is comforting but never resting long, assuming gradual transformations that betray its continuous key melody. Its beauty finally proves itself insurmountable as Avey Tare’s platinum screams over a bed of noise only increase our sense of solace.

The final two songs reach further into the abyss, acquiring stripped-down arrangements and skirting any immediate reactions. ‘Cobwebs’ is a bleeping atmosphere that feeds off some expert vocal-harmonizing but never seems at peace with its surroundings. That said, it’s still incredibly linear compared to ‘Seal Eyeing’ – the sole track that was recorded particularly for this release – which aside from a distorted voice and lovely piano line, is completely weighed down by the overflow we’ve watched accumulate over the first three songs. That ‘Seal Eyeing’ sacrifices some of its potential substance to embody this shining luster is hardly selfish; in fact, this final track concludes a flood that had been building since ‘Water Curses’ took a dive. This nautical theme also binds the EP’s four tracks in a way that makes their ‘outtake’ status seem insulting. Water Curses is another exciting chapter in Animal Collective’s inexhaustible discography that stands on its own between their celebrated Strawberry Jam and whatever mystic muses lie ahead.

My Bloody Underground - Brian Jonestown Massacre

My Bloody Underground

Brian Jonestown Massacre
A Recordings.

SCQ Rating: 81%

The grey area between artistic pursuit and mental breakdown is always the most detailed and discussed period of any troubled musician’s career. Some of rock and roll’s most popular folklore was bred from a songwriter’s life-altering experience, that u-turn that gave birth to their most experimental (and often most celebrated) music. In other cases, these radical excursions rise against critics and find an audience among other cult classics. In the most extreme of cases, you’ll find people worshipping the original music of incarcerated murderer Charles Manson. On a more commercial level, Robert Smith’s self-abuse and severe depression created Pornography, a record that Smith himself claims was recorded to be “completely unlistenable”. From Syd Barrett’s collapse into psychosis and Dylan's motorcycle accident to Thom Yorke’s bitter break-up with the guitar, these resulting records not only provide a document for fans to probe in search of answers to its mind-bending mysteries, but also affords us a closer glimpse at the aural perfection that artist had in mind, as it’s the closest we, as fans, will ever get to hearing the sounds they heard in their heads.

No doubt that drugs play a key role in many of these tales; few as prolifically as for Anton Newcombe, lead songwriter for the semi-successful and sporadically brilliant Brian Jonestown Massacre, whose drug-abuse and emotional problems have resulted in the exile of every original band member sans himself, a major label implosion, and countless interviews ending in derogatory hang-ups. On his triskadecaphobia-tempted thirteenth album, Newcombe’s ego outdoes itself with a seventy-eight minute exploration into full-blown madness; a collection that seems intent on destroying the memory of BJM’s past while searching for a way to start fresh again.

Moving from psychedelic trances to instrumental piano ballads to warped shoegazer tracks without so much as pressing the skip button, My Bloody Underground is by far the most conceptually barren, awkwardly sequenced album in the BJM catalogue, but as long as you expect the unexpected, it works. While the in-your-face shoegaze production of ‘Who Cares Why’ feels coarse at first, close listens uncover a great space-out track full of acoustic shifts and vocal layers. At its finest, the breakbeat drones of ‘Just Like Kicking Jesus’ provide enough noise to make a would-be ballad one of Newcombe’s great recent songs. The guitars shred, the squalls of feedback ripple against each other but the beauty beneath it all is untouched. It’s all as far removed from the band’s previous material as you fear it is, but these moments are sonically exciting. This is a record about embracing the insanity; one where you listen closely as often as you let your mind wander.

Like a trusted friend, the plethora of spiraling guitar riffs and heavy whirrs are there to lean on if the whole trip gets too overwhelming. This is especially common in the record’s second half, where ‘Golden Frost’s guitar romp sustains us against the Icelandic screams and seasick My Bloody Valentine drones. In many cases, there are songs hidden beneath the noise but all we’re getting is a blown speaker and echoes of what might’ve been. As far as what might’ve been is concerned, I feel confident that all die-hard fans awaiting this album will hate it for the same reason I’m enjoying it; leave your expectations at the door or don’t bothering coming in.

What strikes me as tragic about Newcombe is that his uncontrollable temper documented in the now famous rockumentary Dig has stolen the spotlight from what he always convinced himself was the message: his music. A casual glance at BJM footage on Youtube presents a strong case that most people attending BJM shows since 2005 are there to see a fight, cause trouble or catch some violent footage on their cellphones. While My Bloody Underground feels oblivious to that irrefutable change in the BJM fanbase, many of its song titles succumb to that sensational attention-grabbing [nobody names a song ‘We are the N*****s of the World’, ‘Automatic F****t for the People’, or ‘Bring Me the Head of Paul McCartney on Heather Mills’ Wooden Peg (Dropping Bombs on the White House)’ without trying to ruffle some feathers]. Who knows, maybe this is Newcombe at the tail-end of his insufferable craziest in an era that will later be looked upon as the climax of his manic behaviour…? These abusive attempts at creating the perfect album commonly end in a U-turn, as mentioned earlier, or death; I personally expect Anton Newcombe to be the exception to that fork in the road.

The Slip - Nine Inch Nails

The Slip

Nine Inch Nails
NIN.

SCQ Rating: 58%

The first time I honestly asked myself if I could enjoy a Nine Inch Nails record was two months ago, when a friend let a wide array of recent NIN tracks blare from her stereo speakers. Largely representing With Teeth and Year Zero, the songs I heard were more electronic than hard rock, more melancholy than angry. And while she admitted that she had cherry-picked her favourites from the harsher material, it was the first time I actually thought about Nine Inch Nails since 1995. Ghosts I-IV was unveiled a week later and displayed an agreeable Eno/Reznor hybrid I nearly bought several times. No rest for the wicked, it seems, as Reznor has released yet another new album (his fourth release in a year’s time); this one entirely free and available now from his website. Now seemed like the best time to test-drive the NIN sound and perhaps The Slip is the right place to start.

With the first track’s minute and a half of computer buzzes barely touching our eardrums, The Slip shakes that early impression that this CD could be exactly what you paid for by breaking the door down on ‘1000000’, a live drum hammering against treated guitar chords while Reznor sneers “I don’t feel anything at all.” With his vocals tossed back and forth in the mix, calling out and answering back, the adrenaline level peaks early in a brainless but accessible blast of energy that prepares us for the next few tracks of teenage torment. Lead single ‘Discipline’ is particularly worth noting for its ability to please fans of alternative rock and club culture; its mix of aggressive guitar and dance beats makes this track perhaps their most important means of approaching a new fanbase this summer.

Much of this album feels unusually sedate compared to earlier releases; the crunch of their aggressive side is sporadically spread around ambient mood-pieces and laid back electro-rock grooves. ‘Echoplex’ is the best example of the latter, featuring a stuttered drum machine paced to a repetitive guitar rev that supplies the groundwork to The Slip’s atmospheric centerpiece. The ominous soundtrack of ‘Corona Radiata’ moves from sterile to industrial over its seven minutes, but is expertly placed as an addendum to the funereal piano of ‘Lights in the Sky’.

As both a marketing tool for his upcoming tour as well as rallying some new, frugal fans, The Slip is satisfying on a number of levels. Due to its no-strings, give-away release method, this feels spontaneous and unburdened by expectation. It’s neither contractually obligated to please anyone nor aiming to articulate a grand statement. Most importantly, The Slip is an easy album to listen to and enjoy; something that many NIN-deniers likely thought impossible. If SCQ is any indication, The Slip will successfully find that new audience.

SCQ Track Previews

To appease the requests of my faithful readers (well, one reader), SCQ will now undertake the task of previewing the latest singles or tracks of interest on an occasional basis. Despite the current flood of great new music pouring in, SCQ is constantly craving more and although the following tracks aren't yet available (in album form), we can feast on these early scraps. For release dates and further album information, check out Thank God It's Tuesday.


Violet Hill – Coldplay
SCQ Rating: **///

The full-blooded ambience that ushers in this track excites me, not only because album #4 is produced by Brian Eno, but because Coldplay could use a dose of long-winded ambition. Not the case. As we’ve come to expect every three years, Coldplay are working hard to prove themselves a credible rock band and their polished setting is roughed up by some intentionally raw guitar work. That it’s uncomfortably rubbing shoulders with some serene strings and piano is only slightly baffling; what’s more problematic is that it can’t, in a padded three minutes, be both the shout-from-the-rooftop love song and the soft ballad it’s attempting to be.

Aside from the obviously conflicted sides present, this song fails to smooth out its bipolarity by foregoing a real chorus. Now I’m all for Coldplay switching things up – in fact, I was the one counting down the days after Martin claimed they had “reinvented the wheel” with X&Y and I applauded Martin’s promised of no piano on this new record – but as you can see, Coldplay aren’t nearly as versatile at performing as they are at promising. By ridding their lead single of a catchy (or noticeable) chorus, the four Brits have disabled what has been their lead weapon since ‘Yellow’.

Some good news? It doesn’t sound like ‘Clocks’. Moreover, Martin’s lyrics don’t sound entirely recycled from Hallmark cards; the apocalyptic march of bibles and rifles would ring true anytime over the past millennium or so, but hearing Martin mix that fear with his constant love-cravings is, if nothing else, more interesting than his last few albums of love-craving. Here’s hoping the album sequencing compliments the song more than radio play can.

Pork and Beans – Weezer
SCQ Rating: *////

“I don’t give a hoot about what you think,” Rivers sings in their debut single from another self-titled record and we get it, Rivers, really; you released Make Believe. We know you don’t care. Writing a song about it seems to be just the latest dare Rivers has challenged himself with, and like the album’s cover, title, and lead single, he’s getting away with it. The band deserves better and with Rivers delivering another passionless set of ridiculous (or are they ironic again, Rivers?) lyrics that keep his listening demographic bordering on pre-teen, the "Red Album" seems like another missed opportunity.

To Cure A Weakling Child/Girl Boy Song - Adem
SCQ Rating: ****/


When I hear of a favourite artist indulging in a covers project, I instinctively cringe. Why on earth would a distinctive songwriter sacrifice his/her own creativity to mimic someone elses? Well after hearing ‘To Cure A Weakling Child/Girl Boy Song’, my whole beef with covers might take a vacation. Multi-instrumentalist Adem puts his intimate voice (and guitar, mandolin, woodwinds, etc.) to Aphex Twin’s classic Richard D. James album, milking the pastoral beauty out of the original’s beat-heavy blender mix. With the grace he shows here, I’m dying to know how Adem plans to perform Smashing Pumpkins’ ‘Starla’. I’ll be first in line for this one.

I Will Possess Your Heart – Death Cab For Cutie
SCQ Rating: ***//

There has been much discussion over Death Cab for Cutie’s non-negotiable new album; word is fans will love it or hate it in equal measure. While this lead single hardly demands severe opinion-taking, it’s an interesting first-look at what could be Death Cab’s definitive statement after years of being linked to emo and what jackasses refer to as “chick rock”.

For all the endless collaborations his voice has been found in, it’s a credit to Ben Gibbard’s pipes that he hasn’t worn out his welcome yet. As soon as Death Cab lock their brooding bass line with a grand piano melody, it nearly disappears when Gibbard’s aching lyrics begin. Treading between lovelorn and stalker-ish, Gibbard takes a modern page out of ‘Every Breath You Take’ that is decidedly non-emo and sounds like DCFC may have taken some mature steps since 2005’s adequate Plans.

Ringer EP - Four Tet

Ringer EP
Four Tet
Domino Records.


SCQ Rating: 83%
Wishlist Counterpoint: 74%

Kieran Hebden should be commended for the way he manages his output as often as for the work itself. For an artist as prolific and versatile as Hebden, creating distance between his freestyle jazz project with Steve Reid (where Hebden goes by his own name) and his Four Tet moniker is an ingenious feat. Under one name, Hebden is free to explore and galvanize various experiments without injuring the name of Four Tet, his super-successful guise and its immaculate discography. All the same, for every project Hebden has undertaken since 2005 (several Steve Reid collaborations, a Fridge record and a billion remixes), the long wait on Four Tet’s imminent return only raised expectations.

And if history teaches us anything, expectations are just what Hebden needs to fuel his contrary creativity as ‘Ringer’ is perhaps the most glaring example of an inaccessible Four Tet song. On Rounds he crafted the perfect comfort music for melody-loving electronica fans. With Everything Ecstatic, Hebden turned on hip-hop and dancehall fanatics. Here - although you could argue that this is catered toward the underground trance enthusiasts - we find Four Tet exploring his own artistic boundaries, and these four lengthy tracks are all proof that his careful compositions won’t succumb to the area of dance music most often ridiculed: its repetitiveness.

Starting its near-ten minute running time with an airtight techno coda, ‘Ringer’ breaks into a half dozen directions at once; two fluttering melodies, a thumping 4/4 beat and digital noise crawling the song’s corners while its trance stitches hold strong. What keeps the whole song sane is that these aspects never clutter, and through the album’s entirety, each song is made of several mini-suites held together by its pulse-steady rhythm. By the time ‘Ringer’s live drums come trampling in, one can’t help but feel like they’ve discovered something important.

Despite this rare explosion of percussion, Hebden seems to be making it clear that no one in the music press will typecast him as DJ juggernaut in dance circles the way Everything Ecstatic did, the same way he ensured that nobody would pigeon-hole him into “folktronica” after Rounds. With beat-making, his almighty muse in 2005, retreating from the foreground of his songwriting, Four Tet seems intent on undergoing his latest transformation into electronica’s more delicately detailed playground. ‘Ribbons’ would be a bubbling ballad if its beat’s RPM weren’t as complex as they are. It’s a calming breather spatially, although its bass-heavy beat is as persistent as the rest of Ringer EP’s material. On the issue of space, ‘Swimmer’ is lost in it for the first few minutes of tepid drones and steady thumps before some keyboard chords introduce us to the song’s backbone. These slow builds, which characterize the EP to a fault, are ever-present on final track ‘Wing Body Wing’ which builds toward its digital, percussive thud after two minutes of seemingly aimless rock-clapping and wood-tapping. That clever, winking side to Hebden’s recordings is what separates Ringer EP from falling into trance’s predictability pit, and if you have to set aside some extra time for the payoffs, that anticipation is infinitely better than most Ibiza soundtracks, where you get the payoff before it has significance and then endure it burrowing into your skull for twelve minutes.

Accelerate - REM

Accelerate

REM
Warner Records.

SCQ Rating: 67%

If there’s one thing everyone loves more than an underdog, it’s the second coming of a once untouchable rock act. Each year the music press collectively loses their rocks over one of these bands with varied merit for enthusiasm – remember the extravagant celebration of Green Day’s American Idiot – and the billions of dollars wrapped up in band reunions (Led Zeppelin, The Police, Pink Floyd, Spice Girls) indicate this universal desire to hoist our old favourites back upon a weathered pedestal. 2008’s chosen band might well be REM, whose recent discography has presented a slew of underwhelming experimentation and wasted promise. For every new direction explored, REM seemed less and less vital and that, in and of itself, was enough to put their comeback into momentum. Longevity, it seems, is a cause celebre for the ringtone generation.

To the band’s credit, REM’s cresting wave was largely due to their own dedication. With the release of their second Best Of compilation (And I Feel Fine… The Best of the I.R.S. Years), REM set out on what would become their most passionate (and electric) tour in well over a decade. And maybe rehashing all those I.R.S.-era memories made Stipe, Buck and Mills realize that sounding like REM isn’t such a raw deal after all, as Accelerate sees the band both reclaiming their rock and roll spirit and the majority of their long-suffering fans.

To put this review into perspective, I’m not one of those fans. Although my interest in the band can be marked from Automatic for the People and Monster through to New Adventures in Hi-Fi, making me a casual fan at best, no previous REM education is necessary when listening to ‘Living Well is the Best Revenge’, a race-from-the-gate rocker that displays a confidence that shuns self-consciousness and charisma that defies any notion that the band might be bored in their old stomping ground. The following three songs maintain a similar use of pace and volume, with the harmonized swagger of ‘Man-sized Wreath’ and first single ‘Supernatural Superserious’ both supplying memorable hooks.

Despite the initial excitement of hearing REM back on their alternative rock throne, there’s a notable uniformity to these eleven songs that, through direct songwriting and raw production, unveil Accelerate to be a merely decent rock album that won’t share the stage with their string of past classics. Songs like ‘Mr. Richards’ and the tense title track may comply with ideal listening for a summer afternoon but their lack of dimension is as obvious as their accessibility. Signs of melodic genius remain but are lulls purposefully placed to emphasize imminent guitar riffs; after the stunning piano that opens ‘Hollow Man’, for example, the veteran trio jumps into a joyful chorus that would sound appropriate on the mid-90s Friends soundtrack.

At a tight 32 minutes, the record’s effortless flow is only damned by the absence of a crucial song that might rival the considerable single status this band unloaded in the 80s and 90s. Despite many pleasant moments, Accelerate can’t deliver a single of that caliber and, for that reason above all others, predestines this album to serve as a beacon for REM-awareness in 2008 and not one of the band’s best albums. In the canon of classic bands returning to form, Accelerate is a satisfying effort but if this record is still making headlines by December, 2008 will have proven to be a lackluster year.