Like a Finely Woven Tapestry

By Bradford Frese | Wednesday, November 27, 2002

Considering their relatively short lifetime, Spoon has had a tumultuous history. In the space of five years, the Austin, Texas, trio released three albums on three different labels. Spoon took time to reevaluate their sound and songwriting after being dropped by Elektra Records; last year's subdued Girls Can Tell demonstrated that the band was finally coming into their own. Even so, Girls was bipolar, swinging from brooding ballads to poppy, uptempo rockers. For this reason, Kill the Moonlight is notable because it's the first time Spoon has managed to stay on a label for very long—and it's also the first time Spoon has managed to squeeze something original and lasting out of its typically hit-and-miss songwriting.

Spoon's 2002 Kill the Moonlight is disarmingly direct. For the most part, Spoon fleshes out Britt Daniel's songs with little more than the standard lineup of drums, guitar, and minimal keyboards. The album is clearly influenced by early 80s post-punk and New Wave, but it incorporates the minimalism and energy of these genres without resorting to imitation. Because of this, Kill The Moonlight retains the energy and brightness of Spoon's early work, while keeping the emotional impact of Girls Can Tell.

The album starts out with the sparse, energetic 'Small Stakes,' in which Britt Daniel wraps his upbeat vocals around little more than a keyboard and tambourine. It is followed by 'The Way We Get By,' which is fleshed out by piano, bass, and drums (think of Ben Folds's more upbeat pieces and you're on the right track). Britt Daniel's guitar is noticeably absent until the opening bars of 'Something To Look Forward To,' and even then it sounds like it's working hard not to take up space. Spoon emphasizes the silence between the notes on this album, and this space glimmers through staccato piano riffs, punchy drums, and simple, stabbing guitars. The sonic efficiency helps keep the band's arrangements and performances taut, while the lack of studio wizardry makes them sound spontaneous and inspired.

All of this less-is-more thinking would make the album boring, though—if the songs weren't excellent. Fortunately, they are. Britt Daniel writes simple yet compelling lyrics and backs them with hooks one can't help but bite. For example, 'Jonathon Fisk' is a fairly conventional punk song that rides on quick guitar downstrokes and saxophones—but when Daniel delivers the lines 'Jonathon Fisk speaks with his fists / can't let me walk home on my own,' one can't help but sing along. The lyrics are some of Daniel's best—the song is a humorous, bittersweet tale about a bully who used to beat him up in elementary school. It's a stellar and memorable rock song, even without the liner note explanation.

As good as 'Fisk' is, though, 'Stay Don't Go' is even better. It's one of the most experimental tracks on the album. It uses a grand total of four chords. Random keyboard noises materialize out of nowhere, and Daniel beat-boxing propels the song. But these normally grating elements manage to mesh perfectly. The song is inventively produced, yet not alienating—it is minimalist, yet melodic. Androgynous vocals deliver the lines, 'it's the wrong words that make you prick up your ears,' on top of a catchy melody.

Even though it's the best track on this record, the album brims with outstanding tracks — and very few stumbles. The great thing about Kill The Moonlight is that it's a group of regular guys playing good songs, and as such it's far more immediate than any pop album released this year. The band keeps things simple without condescending to the listener; it is energetic without being sloppy, and melodic without being cutesy. In an age when production tends towards heaping layers of sound onto forgettable hooks, Kill The Moonlight stands alone as a fantastic, raw pop album.

Much like Spoon, Washington's Microphones succeed at making brilliant, original pop songs with fairly traditional instruments. The comparison ends there. While Spoon strips down their rock to the basic elements to lend it energy and impact, the Microphones (or more aptly Microphone, since the only constant member is Olympia, Washington's Phil Elvrum) create albums of incredible sonic depth and texture through careful layering, stereo effects, and manipulation of recorded sound. Phil Elvrum has made his name by throwing gigantic blasts and strange sounds together to create unpretentious albums, as devastating as they are comforting. Prior works masterfully weaved beautiful production, childlike innocence, and cathartic melodies into Elvrum's songs without making them alienating or trite.

If one didn't know that Song Islands was a compilation of singles, compilation tracks, demos, and unreleased songs, it would come off rather badly by comparison. As a B-sides compilation, it works better than most, though it's still for die-hard fans only. While Song Islands lacks the conceptual continuity of the Microphones' full-length albums, it does work nicely as a history of Elvrum's progress as a songwriter and producer; it is of value to pretty much anyone who has more than a passing interest in the Microphones.

The Microphones' albums are a display of the infinite possibilities offered by analog recording technology. Song Islands is no different; Elvrum imbues even the simplest folk songs with extra warmth and grace through reverberations, stereo panning, and careful multitracking. Possibly the best example of Elvrum's skill with recorded sound is 'Feedback (Life, Love, and Loop),' which starts off with a voice listing types of percussion instruments while a gigantic, distorted bass drum stomps in the right channel. Eventually a simple drumbeat enters, with each percussion instrument placed carefully along the stereo spectrum. The song moves from drum loop into a simple, acoustic piece that eventually explodes into a two-notes of droning feedback, with one note in the left channel and the other in the right.

Yet all this production lies on top of a song that lacks memorable lyrics, and as such comes off as nothing more than an exercise in psychedelia. This problem plagues the first half of Song Islands; the songs really aren't that good, though Elvrum's sheer experimental drive makes them intriguing. Only in two places does Song Islands become unlistenable: the silly and Raffi-esque sing-a-longs of 'I Can't Believe You Actually Died' and 'I'm A Pearl Diver.' The first starts off as a lovely bit of spacey country-rock—complete with pedal steel, fiddles, and Elvrum's signature elephantine drums—up until every one of Phil Elvrum's friends joins him in singing, 'Up and died! You up and died on me!' Likewise, 'I'm A Pearl Diver' is inventively produced, but the childish melody and large-group sing-a-long walk it over the fine line between innocent and immature.

The first four songs on the second half of the album, however, rank as some of the best material Elvrum has committed to tape. The first notable track on Song Islands is an alternate version of The Glow Pt. 2's 'The Moon.' Elvrum's lyrics are some of the most powerful and personal he has written in his career. The other alternate version of 'The Moon' is entirely instrumental, stripping away organs, and relying on heavily panned piano and horns to provide ambiance. Including two versions of the same song, back to back, on an album, may seem pretentious, but each version is so remarkably distinct that Elvrum pulls it off beautifully.

Likewise, 'Lanterns' and 'Antlers' layers simple elements to generate beautiful sonic landscapes. Here, the approach is more restrained and careful. 'Lanterns' sounds almost trip-hoppy, with a cut-and-paste drumbeat and deep, resonating organs. 'Antlers' is Elvrum's voice at its strongest, and he uses it to great effect. The song begins with him singing to guitar accompaniment, but eventually the song evolves into a chorus—Elvrum harmonizing with his own voice. For fans, these two songs alone might justify Song Islands, and as the only post—Glow works on the record, they indicate that the Microphones are looking towards new heights.

The rest of Song Islands isn't terribly notable. The songs do indicate that Phil Elvrum is one of the most essential and innovative artists today, but at the same time, so has the rest of his recorded output. It's often quite good, rarely unpleasant, and at times it's achingly beautiful and human, but Phil Elvrum has put out better work, and Song Islands is definitely not something a newcomer to the Microphones would enjoy hearing.

Like a Finely Woven Tapestry

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