Grandaddy
The Broken Down Comforter Collection
[V2]
Rating: 7.9
How much lo-fi can the world handle before it breaks into oblivion and scatters into a million
pieces? I don't care. I love lo-fi. Good lo-fi, that is. I'm the same as anyone else with
some modicum of taste. I like a healthy dose of Sebadoh now and then, though my consumption of
Pavement has gotten vastly out of hand according to the USDA's Rock Guide Pyramid.
Pavement. There's something about the guitar which sounds like its six month- old strings are
two strums away from snapping and a voice that cracks as it hits the song's climax. It also
doesn't hurt that they've got sincerity coming out the proverbial ass. As I always say,
"There's nothing wrong with too much sincerety." Yeah, except when the band can't quite
pull it off. Luckily for Grandaddy, they're one of Pavement's few contemporaries that can
push the sincerity quotient right up to the top of the sinc-o-meter while maintaining their
sense of dignity.
The 12 songs on the band's latest long- player, The Broken Down Comforter Collection,
are vibrant and crackling with energy. The album's opening number, "Gentle Spike Resort,"
opens up troubadour- style with frontman Jason Lytle singing his trademark stream- of-
consciousness lyrics (something about Whitesnake riffs and lions) over a passionately-
strummed acoustic guitar. Later, an organ shows up trying like hell not to disturb your
gentle sense of pop bliss. It shuffles underneath, soaking the song in its warm undertow.
What's their secret? A good question. A fine, upstanding question. See, Grandaddy have a
formula that works. Theirs are traditional indie pop songs in their most basic, elemental
form. A solid, unwavering 4/4 rhythm (and some occasional experimental excursions) with
more hooks than Burlington Coat Factory. The songs all follow this template, but it's Lytle's
understanding of the pop song on a primal level that gives each song its own distinct flavor.
Lytle's songs are kind of like Will Oldham's black faced teachings, but without all the
damnation and irish pub sing- alongs. And with more beards. Although tracks like "Wretched
Songs" and the epic instrumental "Egg Hit and Jack Too" (which ain't that long for an "epic,"
by the way) feature a certain spaciousness that sounds almost natural, like they were recorded
in the great woods of the Northwest. The guitars spit out a barely audible overarching crunch.
It's the kind of distortion you can really appreciate-- it doesn't sound like it came factory-
sealed in a box addressed to the Foo Fighters.
Of course, if you look to deep enough into this album, you'll see some definite nods to Mark
Linkous. At times, it's almost as if they've lured his sparkling horse into their own stables
and recreated it in their own image. But while somewhat derivitive of pop songs past, Grandaddy
are usually able to squeeze out that extra ounce of originality that pushes them into the
realm of "really good bands." This album is no exception.
-J. McMahon