This Tuesday, the Bellingham group Death Cab for Cutie is expected to release its latest album, along with new music from the Old 97’s and T Bone Burnett.
Here is a look at each.
Death Cab for Cutie, “Narrow Stairs” (Atlantic Records)
“Narrow Stairs” has been billed for months as a potentially polarizing departure for Death Cab for Cutie, the group’s daring rock album. The hype is not entirely true.
Sure, the first song, “Bixby Canyon Bridge,” builds to a thudding crunch of guitar. That track is sort of the exception, though. The Death Cab sound, a melodic brand of indie rock that made the group favorites on “The OC,” remains intact.
Changes — and there are some — are hardly polarizing. Rather, they improve on what was already a winning formula. You want highlights? Look at the track list. Each song rests somewhere between good and great.
Producer and guitarist Chris Walla employs some friendly effects on the album. “You Can Do Better Than Me” channels Brian Wilson circa “Pet Sounds,” for instance. But on other songs, he scuffs up the music, adding a bit more distortion than in the past, the sonic equivalent of frayed jeans.
Walla’s arrangements temper the anxiety surrounding singer Ben Gibbard’s lyrics, which are dark. Just look at the album name, “Narrow Stairs.” Claustrophobic image, that.
The disc starts with Gibbard describing in his fragile voice “a dusty gravel ridge … at the place where your soul had died.” The lead single, “I Will Possess Your Heart,” is about a stalker. And the album ends with the song “The Ice Is Getting Thinner.”
The gloom is engaging, though. Part of the fun of a Death Cab album is simply hearing Gibbard’s lines. Even at his most grim, he’s a clever and sentimental writer, the heir apparent to Paul Simon.
Here, he skillfully balances personal asides with broader anxieties. On the spine-tingling “Grapevine Fires,” he sings about buying wine and paper cups, then sitting on a hill with a friend to watch a disaster.
“And the firemen worked in double shifts, with prayers for rain on their lips, when they knew it was only a matter of time,” he concludes.
The line is vague. Is rain coming? Are fires about to overtake the men?
The only thing that’s clear is that Death Cab itself seems far from burning out.
Old 97’s, “Blame It On Gravity” (New West Records)
Rhett Miller could inspire a thesis on why front men should never go solo.
In between work with the Old 97’s, the guy released two records of his own. Neither were stunning. Both sounded like tepid versions of the Old 97’s. One of the albums even distracted Miller from his work with the group, he said, hurting its output.
Thankfully, Miller has refocused on his main meal ticket. The Dallas group’s latest album finds the lively quartet embracing the rockabilly sound that helped earn them It-band status in the mid-1990s.
“Blame It on Gravity” is a satisfying record, if not an extraordinary one. Clean guitars skip though the album, which itself is about jittery movement. Miller is either singing about throwing money in a van, going down a mountain or noting “how I might die inside unless I ride.”
Let’s hope he doesn’t get too far away. The group sounds better than they have in years.
T Bone Burnett, “Tooth of Crime” (Nonesuch)
T Bone Burnett’s name might look familiar.
As a producer, he guided Robert Plant’s recent collaboration with Alison Krauss, “Raising Sand,” and turned the soundtracks to “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” and “Walk the Line” into unlikely megahits.
He has become a rarity, a big name producer trafficking in roots music.
While his work with other artists has given him a terrific track record, don’t expect much from his latest solo album, “Tooth of Crime.” It marks off almost every point on the vanity project checklist: Odd subject matter, painful arrangements, self-serious singing.
Honestly, I don’t know if the line, “Swizzle stick, I can take you with a swizzle stick,” is supposed to be funny. It makes me smile, but probably for the wrong reason. The songs were originally written to accompany Sam Shepard’s play, “The Tooth of Crime (Second Dance),” so maybe in context, it all makes sense. Here it does not.
Burnett also toys with moody effects, letting his forgettable voice warble through surreal blues music. He employs minimal instrumentation, using the barest piano, scant guitars, a sighing saxophone. It sounds unfortunate.
Shepard’s play is about two rockers vying for a throne in a gladiatorial match. With songs like these, it’s hard to imagine either winning the battle.
Columnist Andy Rathbun: 425-339-3455 or arathbun@heraldnet.com
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