Cursive
Burst and Bloom EP
[Saddle Creek]
Rating: 6.9*
Back in 1999, Pitchfork reviewed an album called Emergency & I
by the Dismemberment Plan. The review was positive. Alright, that's a bit
of an understatement. You could have called it a rave. In fact, raves for the
album were repeated in the news and features sections; several staff members
even changed their names to "Emergency" or "I." For a short period the
entire site closed down but for a banner page reading, "Buy Emergency &
I by the Dismemberment Plan!" The same message was scrawled across
highway off-ramps next to "Armenia Lives!" and "Clapton is God!" Even though
they didn't know me back then, Pitchfork staff members would call in
the middle of the night asking if I'd gotten the album yet. I hadn't. There
was a hunger strike.
Eventually, I got the record. I listened to it a number of times and came to
appreciate the band's unique take on rock. There was always something new
happening, and the elements worked together to create stirring effects song
after song. My friend who likes good music got it and loved it. Couldn't stop
talking about it.
Yet I didn't really care for it. There was something too intellectual, too
clean, too weird for its own sake. There was a song about getting an open
invitation to everything and the singer going to a bunch of lame parties that
depressed me. I didn't like the singer's metallic, ringing voice. So this is
what the asterisk's about:
* This is a review by someone who didn't really care for
Emergency & I, one of the greatest records-- no, one of the greatest
phenomena ever, rivaling the Big Bang and the birth of Christ. Omaha,
Nebraska's Cursive is used to getting 8.0's here, and perhaps they would
again if someone of less sclerotic tastes had gotten hold of Burst and
Bloom.
As with Emergency & I, I don't really get off on what I'm hearing, but
I can appreciate this five-song EP, the follow-up to the widely lauded
full-length Domestica. I know others will like this, and I have to
attribute some of my dislike to my own taste, as opposed to this band's
quality. I was of a mind to dog this record, but they kept jarring my
hardened ears to listen with strong bursts of dissonant guitarwork, and
athletic hits of band cohesion, rocking me. Cursive brings to mind elements
of the aforementioned Plan, Archers of Loaf, At the Drive-In, and Refused,
and the songs have their share of surprising moments. They can summon some
great cacophony, though to my mind, they don't swing. Yes, swing. It's
necessary. It don't mean a thing. When the fireworks die down and I become
used to the new elements, the underlying structures aren't all that
thrilling.
I think this may be "emo," though I've never been able to figure out what the
hell emo is. Fugazi + Whining = Emo? What kind of music worth a damn isn't
about emotion? Do they just replace political rage with a general sense of
negativity? Is that emotion?
When Tim Kasher groans, "4/4 hip-hop and it don't stop," on the opener, "Sink
to the Beat," I don't know what downbeat emotion he's going for, but it makes
me embarrassed. The song goes on to detail the creation and marketing of this
very song, which, with some nice alliteration, comes off as a well-written
mistake-- another song about songwriting. Kasher warns us that, "Some melodies
are like disease/ They can inflame your miseries/ They can infect your
memories." This is the indie rock way of conveying that "sad songs say so
much." It's not much of a message. Cursive almost redeem this song when the
noise takes over, as one guitar hits like bricks while the other spears
through in rapid regularity, like a sewing machine converted into a weapon.
Kasher screams like the guy being assaulted by the bricks and needles, and
bass player Matt Maguinn is particularly good at hard two-note hits, playing
with more earthshaking presence than tone. Still, they should have ditched
this number, as the rest of the disc is superior.
Kasher and Ted Stevens (of Lullaby for the Working Class) weave together
subtle, tiptoeing guitar lines at the start of "The Great Decay," creating a
sneaking, suspenseful sensation, an expectation that's realized in explosive
mayhem. "All these ghost towns share a name," Kasher sings convincingly in an
Eric Bachmann rasp. "Anywhere USA/ All these strangers look the same/ Day
after day after day." This is the most driving number, my favorite.
An organ slithers in spookily to announce "Tall Tales, Telltales," only to
fade into muted, evil circus music. Soon, the band's newest addition, band
member Gretta Cohn, comes in on the cello, riding over drumrolls as the
guitars play hypnotic Arabian figures. The whole band comes together in a
large, surging, muddy chorus. The song swells and sinks intermittently, but
without really going anywhere. Kasher sure can sing and scream, but he lacks
warmth and humor.
"Mothership, Mothership Do You Read Me?" attempts interstellar communication
through fast, fuzzed-out guitar riffs and long, haunting cello lines. There's
a spooky little breakdown and more great screams, as well as a sci-fi theme
of alienation. I don't think it has much to do with Parliament/Funkadelic,
sadly. Soon, "Fairytales Tell Tales" (they like that wordplay!) kicks in with
a fine sonic assault, the bass part looping around hugely, like a kimodo
dragon performing somersaults. The drums almost skitter, locking in with
the phased-out guitar to sound like an electric eggbeater jammed into a trash
compactor. There's a hardcore flourish before it returns to the more plodding,
typical Cursive groove.
And therein lies the ultimate problem facing Burst
and Bloom: in these tales of jaded seduction, Cursive captures the sadness,
but none of the wit or fun of life. They rock, but they don't bring the party.
Sure, it may be hard for a song to be simultaneously sad and fun, but better
songwriters accomplish both.
-Dan Kilian