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.
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.
posted by MH at
10:15 AM
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