Dismemberment Plan
Change
[DeSoto; 2001]
Rating: 8.6
Change is something fans of D.C.'s the Dismemberment Plan have grown accustomed
to over the years, as the band has proven to make vast leaps in maturity with
each album. Somewhere between the release of their clumsy 1995 debut, "!",
and 1997's more balanced but no less raucous Is Terrified, the band
discovered the advantages of rock balladry and pensive lyrics. With 1999's
Emergency & I, they hit their stride, recording a landmark underground
classic which rocketed them-- almost overnight-- into the stratosphere of indie
rock's elite. But when the Dismemberment Plan decided to title their new album
Change, they weren't fucking around.
After the primal energy and speak/sing-along teenage anthems of Emergency
& I, Change comes as a bit of a jolt. No longer intent on inciting
dancefloor riots through funk-laden post-punk explosions, the new Dismemberment
Plan is more reflective, more sentimental, and, perhaps shockingly, confidently
collected. Whereas their last album cruised through 12 tracks with a pummeling
frenzy that sent audiences into fits of unrestrained revelry, the band rarely
kicks into overdrive on Change, instead pondering their place in the
world and the prosaic nature of day-to-day life. That's right: they've settled
down.
There are few things more detested in youth than the inevitable mellowing that
comes with age, so should the band be derided for succumbing to adulthood or
applauded for refusing to grow stagnant? Obviously, it depends on the final
product. And Change, while unquestionably more mature than anything the
Dismemberment Plan have released in the past, is also, at times, an incredibly
powerful record that can make mundane ruminations seem like Socratic philosophy.
Of all indie rock's leading voices, few have a way with words like Plan frontman
Travis Morrison. His hypnotic musings on everything from lonely New Year's
celebrations in unfamiliar cities to nuclear decimation have always been
an integral element of the band's sound and success. On Emergency & I,
his lyrics blended with the electric onslaught to create visceral moments of
uplift and sonic bliss. On Change, however, they've become the primary
focus of the songs, with the band trading in raging vigor for polite,
polyrhythmic grooves.
The subjects of these songs lack some of the creativity of past works-- there
are no memory machines to wash away the grief, no supernatural invitations from
anyone to do anything-- but Morrison's uncanny ability to capture a moment in
photographic detail has developed into poetic mastery. On one of the album's
highlights, the stripped-bare "Automatic," he moans, "I could see you through
the dirty waves/ Smiling like a vampire as you disappeared beneath the whitecaps.../
I could feel my toes curl through the yellow sand/ As I watched you slip away."
On the bizarre "Face of the Earth," in which he contemplates the expression of a
girlfriend just before she's unexpectedly sucked into the sky and never seen
again, he sings, "I freeze the look of pre-alert and study it still/ Her smile
starts to loosen/ Her pupils yawn wide." And then there's the highly quotable
line from what is far and away the album's clear standout, "Time Bomb": "I am a
time bomb/ And I only live in that one moment in which you die."
Though devoid of the urgency the band built their name on, Change is the
most musically cohesive of the Dismemberment Plan's records to date. The album
kicks off with "Sentimental Man," which bridges the gap between the Talking Heads'
Remain in Light and Joni Mitchell's Court and Spark with drummer
Joe Easley and bassist Eric Axelson forming a busy, aquatic undercurrent for
the quiescent, drugged guitar and droning keyboard. The song flows seamlessly
into "Face of the Earth," whose temperament is similarly mild-mannered until
it opens up with blaring, Jawbox-styled guitar jangle.
"Superpowers" is the first of the album's truly great tracks, documenting events
witnessed through extra sensory perception ("I've been cornered by the screams
of a body as it freed itself of its mind"). "Pay for the Piano" harkens back to
the Dismemberment Plan of Old with surging guitars and that trademark wired
dynamism that pulsed through the band's best songs. "Come Home" follows with
what is-- next to the excellent "Automatic"-- Change's quietest track.
Unfortunately, where "Automatic" contains some of the album's best lyrics, "Come
Home" is too self-pitying, and its lack of any melodic hook gets tired long
before it stretches past the five-minute mark.
The intensely rhythmic "Secret Curse" ushers in a welcome high point, though. The
song embodies the fragile tenseness of anxiety as Morrison spits out words at a
rate even record-holding typists couldn't transcribe ("Anonymous hex on flavorless
food and terrible sex a day of no rhythm a night of no rest"). The lyrical
misgivings of "Following Through" (most notably, the spine-shivering "it could
have been off the hook, now") are redeemed by chiming guitar, heartbeat percussion,
and a beautifully harmonized chorus.
But Change closes on a less intriguing note with two songs: the jungle-flavored
"The Other Side" and the story of "Ellen and Ben." Both songs pass with only
minor complaints: the former, while one of the most musically creative songs in the
band's catalog, suffers lyrically from a lack of any real point; the latter details
the rise and fall of a romantic relationship through the eyes of a gossiping
outsider. But even while these tracks are decent enough, they lack both the
kinetic energy of the band's earlier material, and the engaging lyrical insight
that dominates the rest of the record.
So, yes. The Dismemberment Plan we once knew and loved has indeed changed, and
like any change, it takes some getting used to. Initially, the tribal percussion
and sometimes maudlin tone may not sit well. You might notice small imperfections,
such as the mix, which seems slightly muddier this time out, or Morrison's emotive
"yeah's" which can occasionally be a little abrasive. But with repeated listens,
its positive traits-- like Easley's unbelievably creative drumming, Axelson's
volatile basslines, and the richly textured keyboards-- begin to pile up,
eventually outweighing its negatives tenfold.
Sure, it's hard to shake that nagging feeling that it's too early in the
Dismemberment Plan's career for this kind of shift, that they had so much more
to explore in their endearingly spazzy rock vein. But metamorphosis can be a
beautiful thing, and like the butterfly retains a part of the caterpillar,
Change retains a part of the pre-mutated Dismemberment Plan. You see,
they're still the same band they always were. They're just prettier now.
-Ryan Schreiber, October 24th, 2001