The Club is Closing

Well, the Guided By Voices farewell show is tomorrow night, so that means here's the final installment of the GBV Review Countdown. Try not to be depressed about that. Hopefully, I'll be able to come up with something else to talk about after the new year. Not sure I'd count on it.

The review below is the first thing I ever penned about GBV. Though I've improved as a writer since 1995 (at least I think so), this remains one of my favorite pieces. Though I had been writing reviews for over two years (post-college, that is), I was still basically a neophyte. I remember being really pleased with how this one turned out, and my opinion hasn't changed. I think it encapsulates my burgeoning GBV fandom pretty well. Interesting, though, that I wasn't quite knowledgeable enough about GBV to realize Bob Pollard wasn't just the band's frontman. And, let's note, that my request about making the songs longer and more polished was heeded on the next record, 1996's Under the Bushes Under the Stars. I'll take the credit for that, thanks.

Anyway, if you've read this far, thanks for that, too. If you choose to par-tay Dec. 31, be safe. See you, hopefully not too hungover, on the other side.


GUIDED BY VOICES - Alien Lanes
From Magnet #17

Considering how Dayton's Guided By Voices has gone from a little-known indie cult favorite to the latest next big thing in the alternarock world in the past year, it's no wonder that the band continues to promote rank amateurism as a career move. With Alien Lanes, the avatars of lo-fi grandiosity pump out 28 more examples of what is now becoming, no matter how enjoyable, somewhat of a formula: short, tuneful songs (sometimes only veritable snippets) that are almost always wackily titled -- "Pimple Zoo," "Big Chief Chinese Restaurant," "My Valuable Hunting Knife" -- with pseudo-psychedelic lyrics; the tunes are amazing products of an incredible melodic sense crossed with a love of '60s British Invasion pop and art-pomp arena rock. Alien Lanes, GBV's 10th LP to go along with zillions of EPs and singles over a nine-year career, isn't so much a new album as a sequel; call it Bee Thousand and One or Son of Vampire on Titus. Which isn't to say that Alien Lanes isn't wonderful, because it is.

Recorded, as usual, on 4- and 8-track at the band's digs, the cuts here blur together with no gaps and are further proof that GBV is incapable of writing an unremarkable melody. Just about every one of these songs creeps into the brain at all hours of the day; among others, the driving "Motor Away" is a soaring anthem, and "Blimps Go 90" displays an unusual sweetness. Alien Lanes is also verification that frontman Robert Pollard is either a true, albeit eccentric, genius or a simply a flaming nutjob. Big surprise, wacked-out lyrics are all over Alien Lanes. Two examples: "This is called the coming of age/Riding into town with the giggling faggots" ("Hit"); "Send in striped white jets/In through stained-glass ceilings" ("Striped White Jets"). Even his missteps are entertaining, though, and while hearing anyone else attempt a shaky falsetto on the almost-pretentious "Always Crush Me" would likely bring guffaws, with Pollard you just end up stupidly singing along. Genius, loon or mystical union of both, Pollard's consistent songsmithery and charisma are joys to behold.

It may be a minority opinion, but I'd still like to see GBV -- at least on one outing, to see what would result -- dump the lo-fi shtick, clean up the sound, cut the song list down to about 15 and extend a few of them. A minor quibble, to be sure, and it's downright rare that the only real criticism of a record is that you wish the songs kept on going. Rare, too, in today's musical climate is the feeling GBV's tunes usually bring: belief in the power of rock and roll to be uplifting, or at the very least deliver some happiness. The members of Guided By Voices sound like they're overjoyed and honored to be making the music they make, and it's contagious. Here's to the next sequel.

Fountains of Wayne Larrivee

Heard this gem from Chicago Bulls announcer Wayne Larrivee during last night's WGN telecast of the Bulls' loss to the New Jersey Nets:

"Like Stacy's mom, Vince Carter's got it going on here in the fourth quarter."

Either that song was played at the United Center right before that bizzaro-world quip, or Wayne's a lot hipper than anyone might've thought. I'm betting it's the former.

STOP THE PRESSES: Small correction to the previously posted top 10 list. I've been gorging on the Matthew Sweet record and feel it should be bumped up. So, here's the updated list and point totals:

Wilco – A Ghost is Born 15
Doug Gillard – Salamander 13
Matthew Sweet – Kimi Ga Suki 13
Guided By Voices – Half Smiles of the Decomposed 11
Robyn Hitchcock – Spooked 8
Preston School of Industry – Monsoon 8
Damnwells – Bastards of the Beat 8
Interpol – Antics 8
Sloan – Action Pact 8
Velvet Crush – Stereo Blues 8

Flying High Again

Here's the penultimate entry of the Pulitzer Prize-winning GBV Review Countdown...it's a review I did in Alternative Press (back when that rag was readable) of Bob Pollard's first solo record. I don't think quite so highly of the LP now, but in reading this again, I'm encouraged to revisit it. "Psychic Pilot Clocks Out" was a particulary noteworthy live track around this time (1996). Anyway, "enjoy."

ROBERT POLLARD
Not In My Airforce
Matador
4 stars

On his first solo outing, Bob Pollard, Guided By Voices' head honcho and lo-fi poster boy, eschews the more conventional song structures and production values of Under The Bushes Under The Stars, this year's classic GBV opus, in effect retrofitting his own brand of retro. Airforce comes closer to matching the giddy rush of Bee Thousand or Propeller than the powerful art-rock brilliance of UTBUTS, meaning he's essentially delivered a pre-UTBUTS GBV record. What's missing, of course, is the sweet, sprightly pop of Tobin Sprout, creator of his own sans-GBV record, Carnival Boy, released in conjunction with Pollard's. Given Pollard's dominance over the band's material and the rumored upheaval of the ranks, Not In My Airforce could be a precursor of what to expect from GBV from now on.

Which isn't a bad thing. Pollard's never been loathe to display his fondness for artish rock, so nothing's changed there, and his melodies are as effortless as always. The song titles are typically nutty ("Psychic Pilot Clocks Out," "I've Owned You For Centuries," etc.), and though driving rockers like "Maggie Turns To Flies" are dazzling, the acoustic beauty of tracks like "The Ash Gray Proclamation" is equally striking. There's a winning, casually tossed-off feel to this material, in spite of Pollard's inherent grandiosity (pomposity?), and if this is the direction he chooses to travel from here on out, more than a few sad freaks will surely follow.

As an aside, let me clarify something about Alternative Press. Yes, it's still "readable," if you like the crappy music they now write about. But when I started penning reviews for them in '93, they'd put bands like the Afghan Whigs on the cover. Think that'd happen now? Not unless Greg Dulli morphed into Marilyn Manson. I should also add, for whatever reason, that I was bitter about how they let me go: Rather than telling me directly that they didn't want to use me anymore, they let me twist in the wind, sending me one CD per issue until I finally spoke up. Then I was offered some hemming and hawing about how the new reviews editor "wanted to go in a different direction." Since I was already knee-deep in Magnet work, I didn't mind too much, but I thought I deserved better after writing for them for about five years. But maybe that's just me.

Wow, I feel better.

Merry &%$@# Christmas

Hope my reader(s) had a good holiday. Our Christmas day wasn't exactly in the spirit of the season. Here's how it played it out:

5:30 a.m. Wake up, shower, etc.

7 a.m. Drive to Ft. Myers airport

8 a.m. Arrive at airport for 9:20 a.m. flight

9:20 a.m. Sit in airport awaiting boarding

9:45 a.m. Finally board flight

10:15 a.m. Take off for Charlotte

11:45 a.m. Arrive in Charlotte

12:15 p.m. Get to departure gate and discover 2:00 flight to Louisville delayed to 2:10

1 p.m. Discover flight is further delayed, to 3:20

1-3:30 p.m. Sit, wait to board flight (did enjoy delicious Starbucks eggnog latte, by far the highlight of the day)

3:45 p.m. Board flight to Louisville

4:15 p.m. Take off for Louisville

5:30 p.m. Arrive in Louisville

6 p.m. Discover that one of two pieces of luggage didn't make it

6:15 p.m. Realize that approximately 75 percent of passengers on the same flight didn't get their bags, either

6:16 p.m. Get in US Airways baggage service office line

7:45 p.m. Finally get to the head of the line

7:50 p.m. Leave baggage service office with claim number and strong thirst for a pint

8 p.m. Quench thirst for pint while awating last flight in from Charlotte, initially due in at 7:25 and delayed until 8:40, in the hope that our lost bag made that flight

8:20 p.m. Learn that said flight is delayed until 9:30

8:30 p.m. Take cab to in-laws' house

8:31 p.m. Vow never to fly US Airways again

8:50 p.m. Arrive at in-laws' house, open presents, eat dinner

10 p.m. Sleep

Can't wait to do it again next year. (On a positive note, our bag was waiting at the airport when we swung by on our way back to Chicago.) Of course, we also realize we weren't the only ones having travel difficulties.

Postscript: US Airways is blaming its employees for the massive luggage/delay problems over the holiday.

Shopping List

The eagerly awaited Top 10 of 2004, says I (with a few additions for some Christmas spice).

The links are only for the top 10 (do the rest of the work yourself, man).

TOP 10 (numbers indicate Village Voice-style point system)
Wilco – A Ghost is Born 15
Doug Gillard – Salamander 12
Guided By Voices – Half Smiles of the Decomposed 10
Robyn Hitchcock – Spooked 9
Preston School of Industry – Monsoon 9
Damnwells – Bastards of the Beat 9
Matthew Sweet – Kimi Ga Suki 9
Interpol – Antics 9
Sloan – Action Pact 9
Velvet Crush – Stereo Blues 9


THREE REALLY GOOD RECORDS THAT WERE TOUGHEST TO LEAVE OFF THE LIST
Bigger Lovers - This Affair Never Happened...And Here are Eleven Songs About It
Tommy Stinson – Village Gorilla Head
Hives – Tyrannosaurus Hives


OTHERS
Old 97’s – Drag it Up
Franz Ferdinand – Franz Ferdinand
The Church – Forget Yourself
Perfect – Once, Twice, Three Times a Maybe
Tommy Keene – Drowning
Morrissey – You Are the Quarry
Moviola – East of Eager


BIGGEST DISAPPOINTMENT
Paul Westerberg – Folker (though I do like some of it)


SHOWS
I'm drawing a blank on some of the early-year shows, but here are a few I saw:

Guided By Voices/Tommy Keene, Theatre of Living Arts, Philadelphia
Guided By Voices/Tommy Keene, 9:30 Club, Washington, D.C.
Sloan, Metro, Chicago
Preston School of Industry, Schuba’s, Chicago
Robyn Hitchcock, Schuba's, Chicago
The Church, House of Blues, Chicago
Moviola, Double Door, Chicago
Tommy Stinson, Double Door, Chicago
Matthew Sweet/Velvet Crush, Park West, Chicago
Wilco, Auditorium Theatre, Chicago
Scott Miller and the Commonwealth, Schuba’s, Chicago
Bigger Lovers, Double Door, Chicago
Fountains of Wayne, Rockin’ De Mayo, Chicago


I'll be away from the blog for a little while--the nation weeps--due to holiday travel. Best to you and yours.

Don't Start Believin'

Don't know about you, but I'm booking my flight today:

JOURNEY HOLLYWOOD WALK OF FAME CEREMONY CONFIRMED FOR JANUARY 21, 2005

SPECIAL CELEBRATORY CONCERT HOSTED BY THE HOUSE OF BLUES IN WEST HOLLYWOOD, CA.

Having sold seventy-five million records since 1973, legendary rock-and-roll hit-makers, Journey, have earned their eternal star in Hollywood history on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. The ceremony will begin at 11:30 a.m., January 21, 2005, in front of the Musician's Institute at 6750 Hollywood Boulevard.

Journey was announced in early 2004 as one of only four other music artists chosen to receive a star on the famed boulevard of immortals. Helpful in fulfilling this honor are members of the band's Past & Present Committee and Journeydigest.com.

To "Faithfully" (Ed. note: Barf.) celebrate this historic and momentous occasion, the band--Neal Schon (guitar), Ross Valory (bass), Jonathan Cain (keyboards), Steve Augeri (vocals) and Deen Castronovo (drums)--will be performing at the House Of Blues in West Hollywood, CA. Surprise guests, spontaneous jam sessions and over three decades of hit songs should leave no doubt that this will be a show to remember.

Tickets go on sale Saturday, December 18, at 10 a.m. Pacific Time via Ticketmaster and other usual outlets.

To counteract Journey's inherent crapiosity--though let's be honest, their episode of "Behind The Music" is the best. one. ever.--here's today's GBV Review Countdown entry, from Magnet (this one apparently caused a very minor stir, as I heard through the grapevine that Bob wasn't too happy with it at the time; never had that confirmed, however):

Robert Pollard
Waved Out
(Matador)

Sending me a Bob Pollard record to review is akin to handing the man himself a bottle of Bud: We’re both going to enjoy what’s been offered and quickly ask for another. The minor problem with this scenario is Pollard will likely find that next beer more satisfying than I find Waved Out. It’s not that the second solo LP from Mr. Guided By Voices is in any way lousy. It’s a matter of perspective and expectations: A year has passed since Mag Earwhig!, GBV’s last outing, so the thirst for Pollard’s splendidly melodic "big" rock has gone unquenched for so long that Waved's fairly middling tunes don’t fully satisfy.

Granted, there’s "Subspace Biographies," a charging rocker that earns its place in the Pollard pantheon, and a few other noteworthy tracks ("Make Use," "Wrinkled Ghost," the haunting, jazzy "People Are Leaving"). Plus, while a lot of the material fails to register for long, this is Pollard, so his throwaways are stronger than most bands’ A-list stuff. However, given the man’s talent and sterling track record, Waved Out, while charming, is a bit inconsequential. Funny thing is, I’m sure I’ll end up listening to it over and over again, albeit while eagerly awaiting the next GBV opus. [Matador, 625 Broadway, NYC 10012]

Splendid Isolation

Today's GBV Review Countdown...Isolation Drills. There used to be a cool online version of this CDNow review, but it's gone thanks to Amazon snatching up that company a couple of years ago. Anyway.

Guided By Voices
Isolation Drills
(TVT)

Songwriting savant Robert Pollard has always infused Guided By Voices records with traces of melancholy. The sadness is pervasive throughout Isolation Drills, and, as it often happens, suffering –- in this case, the fallout from Pollard’s marital woes and similar difficulties involving his bandmates –- has led to brilliant art.

Sonically comparable to 1999’s inconsistent Do The Collapse, Isolation Drills finds Pollard continuing to evolve from his early penchant for short, lo-fi nuggets (best exemplified by 1994’s wondrous Bee Thousand) in favor of slicker, fuller, art-pomp tunes. The particularly notable difference, though, is in his words: Prone to penning fantastic, stream-of-consciousness tales of striped white jets, bulldog skin and elf kickers, Pollard has funneled his apparent misery into his most personal set of lyrics. Pensively optimistic during the chimy jangle of “Twilight Campfighter” (“It’s not too late to make us all feel better”), Pollard is mournfully resigned on the downbeat “How’s My Drinking” (“I don’t care about being sober”) and hopeful/cynical on “The Brides Have Hit Glass” (“Once again I roll the dice/And try to hang on to my shrinking paradise”). Emotional pall aside, “Chasing Heather Crazy” and “Glad Girls” are uptempo, instant GBV classics, and the thudding, less-direct “Pivotal Film” features Pollard’s potent band (led by invaluable guitarist Doug Gillard) producing a beautiful hard-rock clamor perhaps unrivaled in GBV lore.

Isolation Drills may not match Bee Thousand’s magical, mystical tone (not many records can), but it’s as melodic and powerful as the best of GBV’s vast catalog. It also firmly cements Pollard’s reputation as one of rock’s all-time greats, making the fans smile at least.

Polling Place

Since 2000, I've been contributing to the Village Voice's Pazz and Jop year-end music poll. On one hand, I consider it a prestigious thing, as it's likely the closest I'll ever get to being associated with the Voice. On the other hand, they invite over a thousand critics to submit votes, so any music-digging monkey with a computer can take part. Still, it's a fun exercise.

I haven't figured out what my top ten for this year is yet, but I'll post it soon. In the meantime, here are my lists from 2000-2003:

2000
#1 album: Superdrag, In The Valley Of Dying Stars. Can't say enough good things about this LP. It's on the shortlist of my favorite records ever, right up there with Tommy Keene's Songs From The Film. In a dogfight with Nada Surf's Let Go for best of the 00's.

2001
#1 album: Superchunk, Here's To Shutting Up. I'd stand by this choice; probably the Chunk's strongest.

2002
I had six records tied for #1; the Voice's software alphabetized them, so Bruce Springsteen's The Rising shows up in the top slot. Of the six, I'd now probably put Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot or Interpol's Turn On The Bright Lights alone at numero uno.

A word about The Rising, though...I don't consider myself much of a Boss fan--I only have one other of his records, Darkness On The Edge Of Town, and have only seen one of his shows. (I was briefly a fan in high school, till I flipped out over the Who and listened to pretty much nothing else for about two years.) But there's something undeniably powerful about this album; the more I listened to it, the more I was drawn to its passion. A few of the songs are dogs, but the rest is really strong, moving stuff.

2003
#1 album: Nada Surf, Let Go. One of my all-time favorite records; matter of fact, it's currently in my discman. (No iPod yet. I know, I know...)


On an unrelated note: For those of you who've been hoping against hope to see a skeleton marionette lip-synching to a recording of "Lucille," your prayers have been answered.

Break a Leg (or Fake It)

I don't condone what this guy did, and I certainly would never stoop to such depths, but you've got to admit he's got some brass ones (and a point in the last sentence):

Winner's girlfriend thought he was a real loser

Chicago Tribune wires
December 8, 2004

When Joe Vitelli of Westborough, Mass., faked a broken leg so he could get out of attending his girlfriend's sorority formal, he only wanted to watch Game 7 of the 2003 Yankees-Red Sox American League Championship Series. He never thought the scheme would help him win a contest. Tuesday, Vitelli was named the winner of Microsoft's "How Low Did You Go to Catch the Big Game?" contest, earning him a trip to Hawaii. Vitelli said after six weeks of wearing a fake cast, getting around in a wheelchair and attending fake doctor's appointments, he was eventually caught in the act of walking. "One of her friends spotted me walking to my car, and she dumped me soon after," Vitelli said in his story. "Girlfriends come and go, but you only get one chance to see Aaron Boone hit a home run to send the Yankees to the Series."

And speaking of baseball, Red Sox, Chicago, etc., color me extremely happy that Nomar is coming back to the Cubs. (As well as Todd Walker.) Lots of talk about other options, but when healthy, Nomar is a superstar. Welcome back.

Frank, mama's boy, demands equal time. 

Guided by Hutchinson

I often can't stand Jay Mariotti of the Sun-Times; while I think he's a fine, often-insightful writer, he's completely overexposed via his TV gigs, and he's relentlessly negative. Which, of course, "sells papers" here in this two-paper town. He also makes a number of factual/statistical mistakes and won't deign to answer your e-mail if you call him on it. (Bitter? Who, me?)

But he's right on today. While no self-respecting Bears fan would ever honestly think that because Chad Hutchinson had a great game yesterday he's automatically the answer at quarterback in Rex Grossman's absence, Bears management continues to look fairly inept by doing things like keeping Hutchinson on the bench while Craig Krenzel and the far-from-mighty Jonathan Quinn stunk to high heaven. In the very weak NFC, the Bears are now 5-7 and, with merely adequate QB play in the eight games between Grossman's season-ending injury and Hutchinson's breakout, they'd be in at least the wildcard hunt and possibly in reach of the division title.

The Bears signed Hutchinson right after Grossman got hurt and then made excuses for him ("He doesn't know the playbook") that made him seem like he was a slow-learning doofus. Now, it turns out he might possibly be a legit answer in the short term, but all the Bears will get out of it is probably a .500 record at best, when they could've scored a playoff slot in the midst of remaking the team in coach Lovie's Smith image of speed and a turnover-hungry defense.

Such is the life of a Chicago sports fan. Hey, at least the Bulls have won twice so far.

And here's the second installment of the award-winning, eagerly anticipated GBV Review Countdown. Today's review is from the Sept./Oct. 2001 issue of Magnet:

Airport 5, Tower In The Fountain Of Sparks
Robert Pollard and his Soft Rock Renegades, Choreographed Man Of War

These LPs are further proof Guided By Voices wonderboy Robert Pollard and former GBV-er Tobin Sprout write songs as often as normal humans perform mundane tasks like blinking or breathing. Tower is the second full-length post-GBV collaboration between Pollard and Sprout; as with 1997's Tonics And Twisted Chasers (released under the GBV flag), Pollard has added vocals to hypnotic, repetitive backing tracks Sprout sent him. Somewhat less accessible than Tonics, Tower is dominated by slow, dark tunes. Pollard is in fine form vocally and lyrically, and Sprout's music, especially "Total Exposure," the jangly "Circle Of Trim" and the poppy "Stifled Man Casino," is the equal of his cohort?s performance. Still, Tower is really just for GBV-obsessed fanboys, surely the intended audience anyway.

Pollard's Soft Rock Renegades (GBV emeritus members Greg Demos on bass and Jim MacPherson on drums) kick up a fairly strong garage-rock ruckus on Choreographed Man Of War. Whereas GBV's Isolation Drills found Pollard continuing to grasp for a scaled-down version of rock's brass ring, here he reaches back into his less-slick past. The wacky titles ("40 Yards To The Burning Bush," "Kickboxer Lightning"), proto-Who stomp ("I Drove A Tank") and instantly hummable melodies (take your pick) are here in spades; all that's left to contemplate is whether a Pollard saturation point can ever be reached.

Yes, We Are

Saw Scott Miller at Schubas last night. A good show, as usual, though (and I'm not sure why) I feel like I've seen better from him. He only said, "Are you with me?" three times. Progress.

I talked to opener Mic Harrison for a while at the end of the night. He's a strong contender for nicest guy in rock. And his tunes aren't bad, either.

'Roid Rage

Lots of debate over the shocking revelation that Jason Giambi used steroids. (And while I've always thought Barry Bonds is an idiot, does anyone believe his "oops, didn't know" testimony? He's now an idiot and a liar.)

I want to be extremely clear on this: I wish that no professional athlete ever used steroids, particulary players in the sport that I hold most dear. However, I'm having a difficult time mustering up any real outrage over the whole affair, other than a "that's sports today" shrug. The reason? I enjoy the hell out most baseball games, and that doesn't change over the fact that many of today's players are hulking ogres. The simple joys of the game--the beauty of a well-turned double play, the diving catch to halt a rally, I could go on but won't--don't change. Plus, while using steroids is perhaps cheating in a moral sense, baseball only recently outlawed the shit, so these players (tools though they may be for using such harmful substances) weren't breaking the rules of the game. Baseball has coddled real cheaters its entire existence: Scuffed baseballs, corked bats, spitballs, sharpened spikes, stealing signs. Those are all considered gamesmanship that, in instances like corking, get players a little slap on the wrist while the powers-that-be secretly wink that these transgressions are part of the fabric and history of the game.

I'm also going to draw an extremely iffy parallel here, but it's my blog and I'll do that if I want to. Is an actor's performance any less Oscar-worthy if he's coked to the gills? Is a rock 'n' roller's incendiary live show any less thrilling if he's drunk off his ass? Of course not. Now, they're also not competitions, either, but if you take a point of view that it's all entertainment, then perhaps it's not so iffy.

I get asked by friends (and my wife, who would be more upset if she found out Eric Karros was gay than if Sosa was on the juice) all the time, "What if Sammy took steroids?" You know what? I'd feel sorry for him, that he felt like, despite his obvious talent, he had to take a drug to get an edge he likely already had. But other than that, I've enjoyed the hell out of Sosa's exploits for a Cubs team that has largely been pathetic during his tenure (and, contrary to some opinions, that's not a direct correlation). Him being found to have taken 'roids won't change that. I'm more upset that he deserted his teammates on the last day of the season and that there's increasing evidence that he's quite simply a bad dude.

I'm rambling now. My point is that I just can't get worked up over the steroids issue. I don't know why. Perhaps it's some failing on my part.

When do pitchers and catchers report?

Baba O'Pollard

Unless you've been hiding underneath an indie rock (now that's comedy), you likely know that Guided By Voices is calling it quits. Sure, frontman Bob Pollard will continue to release 32 solo records a year, but GBV as we've come to know (and love...well, some of us, anyway) will be no more come the Dec. 31 show here in Chicago. I've been a huge GBV fan since about '94, and while I'm not the obsessive "sad freak" collector-type of GBV follower, I have seen the band around 25 times. I'm really looking forward to the New Year's show, which will either be an amazing, triumphant send-off or an embarrassingly drunken fiasco. It may even be both.

I've had the good fortune of hanging out with Bob a number of times--though it wasn't until the last time, in September, that I was convinced he remembered who I was--and I've written a fair number of reviews of his records. In "honor" of the final show, I thought I'd post a series of those reviews. To start, I'll include the one interview I did with Bob in 2003 (he's a great subject), as well as a Magnet Staff Infection blurb about the recent GBV LP.

Guided By Voices, Half Smiles Of The Decomposed (Matador): On the first few listens, GBV's final record seemed a little flat, but the songs came alive while seeing two of the band's shows (Philly, D.C.) on the Electrifying Conclusion farewell tour. (And the Chicago New Year's Eve finale is on tap; I'm taking bets on the over/under on band beer consumption.) Now I can't stop listening. Chiming opener "Everyone Thinks I'm A Raincloud (When I'm Not Looking)" is a gentle, if pointed, goodbye smooch to Bob Pollard's cult of personality: "Hungover and hungry to fix it/A miracle cure for my sorrow/With pillows of self-esteem/Alone in a satellite dream/Where I can forget about a world/Where every theme I choose/Is shining alone on you." The closing "Huffman Prairie Flying Field" finds Pollard seeking fuel for whatever awaits him: "I've come to start up my head/Been closed and locked up/For far too long"; the last, anthemic line is repeated for a magnificently long time. In between these tunes are a requisite clunker or three, but Half Smiles is more consistently entertaining than the last couple of GBV records and a more-than-fitting way to cap an amazing run. The club may be closing, but it's going out of business in style.

On a related note, this is a fun timekiller, though it may hit a little too close to home, at least to most of my friends. Don't brag about your score unless you can make it to 100. Sprechen sie betrunken?*

*FYI, this came from freetranslation.com. I make no claims of its accuracy.