Showing posts with label A Sucker's Dream. Show all posts
Showing posts with label A Sucker's Dream. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 04, 2010

Harlan T. Bobo: Sucker

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So it is actually possible to create decent songs about domesticity. Countless artists have tried gamely and failed miserably, subjecting listeners to the type of god-awful, weepy soap opera schmaltz heard on easy listening FM radio stations. Leave it to a fairly obscure Memphis musician to - almost - get it right. On Sucker, Harlan T. Bobo's third album, the artist keeps on the sunny side, offering up songs "mostly written while courting an adventurous woman" that absolutely spill over with optimism and contentment. Though it's a light, breezy release whose sound isn't particularly earth-shattering and whose darker moments are muted, in many ways this only adds to its charm. Sucker is simply likable and listenable, a brisk foray into the kinds of sentiments that can leave listeners reaching for the Pepto.

If 2007's I'm Your Man found Bobo agitated and twitchy - restless, on edge and sporting the type of vocal spasms that suggested an unhealthy amount of bottled up dissatisfaction and nervous energy - Sucker is more sedate and controlled. Though none of the sounds here will blow anyone's mind and everything is played quite conventionally, Bobo can't be accused of standing in place, as these songs tromp through a lot of musical ground. There's string-driven pop (opener "Sweet Life"), a bouncy piano tune ("Perfect Day") and a loosey-goosey country number ("Crazy with Loneliness"), as well as ragged attempts at punk ("Bad Boyfriends" and the F-bomb-dropping "Energy") and several stripped-down, primarily acoustic songs ("Errand Girl," "Drank" and "Mlle. Chatte"). Bobo's weathered voice complements the arrangements nicely; free of studio embellishments and clearly audible, it gives the album an organic and grizzled quality. To the artist's credit, no two songs sound even remotely similar; coupled with its scant, less than 30 minute running time, Sucker can't be accused of being overindulgent.

The lyrics favor straightforwardness and simplicity over obliqueness, perhaps to a fault. This approach usually succeeds, as "Old Man," "Selfish Life," and the half-English/half-French "Mlle. Chatte" prove that sometimes there's no need to muddy the lyrical waters just to make them look deep, while pseudo sea-shanty "Drank" is another highlight, with Bobo effectively mixing nostalgia with humor. Still, the album's major flaws rest in those unfortunate moments when Bobo reels off banally humdrum ponderings that sound ripped from the back pages of a novice songwriter. The man's in love, sure, but lines like "It's such a perfect day/ I'm not ashamed to be satisfied/ ...It's so nice not to be alone" and "If I could be with you when you're down/ If I could be more to you than a clown" are true nausea-inducing groaners that are tough to look past.

The story behind Sucker has a happy ending: Bobo eventually married the adventurous woman, and certainly the album sounds like an ode to fidelity, commitment and the rest of that romantic stuff. It won't kick-start a musical revolution or propel the musician into the mainstream, but this was probably never Bobo's goal. Sucker is a pleasing and varied - if unremarkable and innocuous - release from one of indie's less heralded and more unique artists. Hell, at the least it's a better stab at expressing connubial bliss than many big-name artists have managed.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

The Alternate Routes: A Sucker's Dream

spectrumculture.com. enough said.


After spending a weekend listening to A Sucker's Dream, I needed a few stiff drinks to wash the mainstream radio-friendly taste out of my mouth. The Alternate Routes' latest effort is unabashedly commercial, with a clean production that emphasizes fatass guitar riffs, crisp and up-front vocals, drums punchy enough to make Max Weinberg jealous and anthemic rhythms that beg to be played in front of a packed music club as a relief pitcher takes the mound. The band's style is balls-ahead rock n' roll with a faint hint of country and pop - and that's all in big capital letters - with little room for subtlety, nuance or experimentation. The album doesn't try to map out a new musical vision or strange new language; it's clear the band is more interested in working within the confines of existing styles than in trying to map out new ones.

For the most part this approach works; if you're in the mood for pure rock music with more than a hint of machismo and a twist of humor, you could do a lot worse than A Sucker's Dream. "To the Line" features both shredding guitars and shouted manly-man group vocals, while the title track punctuates this vocal approach with the album's biggest guitar riffs. These bursts of bombast are at least somewhat tempered with several sparse ballads. "Desdemona" includes Patty Griffin and is the album's most disarming and engaging track; built around an acoustic guitar melody and running nearly six minutes, this hushed and reserved song manages to stand out in the sea of decibels that characterizes most of the album. "Already November" takes a similar approach and is held together by a subdued guitar line, with lead singer Tim Warren's vocals occasionally reminiscent of Jeff Tweedy, John Hiatt, Jim James or, less charitably, Edwin McCain at his soulful worst.

Still there's something just a bit too AOR about A Sucker's Dream. While the album's press materials suggest that the band is aware of (and perhaps embraces) these tendencies, on several songs it gets the better of them. "Ain't No Secret" and "All that I See" are both heart-on-sleeve love songs, with overwrought musical and vocal arrangements primed for a television melodrama and with enough syrup to upset even the most cynical stomach. The sentiments expressed are just too close to what you've heard from countless buskers on the promenade or from that subculture of Devendra Banhart-lookalike musicians who frequent the quads across American universities. It's on these moments when the sheen is uber-polished and the lyrics are hopelessly romantic where the album loses the listener's interest.

A Sucker's Dream's experimental moments are rare; aside from the hazy and echoed vocal treatment on "The Future's Nothing New," it offers straightforward rock tunes, with the occasional ballad thrown in. While the songs sound organic and it's somewhat refreshing to see a band simply trying to rock with a mixture of humor, sympathy, hope and determination instead of attempting a grand musical statement and bombing miserably - hell, it's worked for The Hold Steady - the album is ultimately uneven and underwhelming. Too often it simply sounds like overly familiar music just looking for a home right of the dial.