Davenports
Speaking of the Davenports
[Mother West]
Rating: 6.9
I had this dream the other night where I kept buying copies of the Will
Bernard 4-Tet's Medicine Hat, over and over. Every day I'd come home
with another one and place it next to all the others. I never even listened
to it! I was like one of those psycho recluses who owns 90 copies of The
Catcher in the Rye, except that my subconscious had instead latched onto
an obscure instrumental fusion album that I rarely ever listen to. Maybe it
was my subconscious trying to get me to listen to the album more often. Or
perhaps it was a subliminal message telling me that my music collection is
getting too obscenely large. I can see the argument between id and ego now:
Ego: Why do we own nine Electric Light Orchestra albums? Isn't one enough?
Id: No! If you listen from No Answer on through, say, Out of the
Blue or Time, it's obvious that they progressed through multiple
styles. Like, check out the intro to "Fire on High," from...
Ego: Stop it! You're not making any sense!
Id: Ooh! Jeff Lynne's little known Armchair Theatre solo effort! And only
$4.99!
Anyway, this all ties in somehow. Pitchfork High Command has sent me this
new album by some band called the Davenports. These Davenports seem to be
four nice fellows: two guys guitaring, one guy bassing, and another one
drumming. Once in a while, singer/guitarist Scott Klass even does some
keyboarding. Oh, and he writes songs! Isn't that nice? As it turns out,
these Davenports make nice music, too. It's midtempo power-pop that draws
heavily on influences like Sloan, Ben Folds Five, the Hollies, the Kinks,
and, of course, the Beatles. Heaven knows I don't need any more of this
stuff in my record collection.
And yet I'm not complaining (well, not much anyway). With my pesky little
ego tied up in the corner, my id is all over this album like scabies on a
nineteenth century sailor. The sugary highs! The syrupy strings! The
creamy middle eights! It's all designed to inflame the senses. "Girls'
Night Out" starts things off with a little programmed beat before morphing
into a very Nova Scotian brand of power-pop. It's perfect for a quick drive
with the windows down, and sometimes, that's all I really need to make me
happy.
"Object in the Mirror" is an even more direct Halifax connection, taking the
energy up a notch before dumping you in California. "I'll Come Down"
indulges in what's become the requisite Beach Boys fetishism, pleasing my
base desire for more Brian Wilson. Of course, my ego is squirming in the
corner. "I know it's well done, but it doesn't matter! This is old
territory," he says. "Bah!" I reply. I'm enjoying this. Plus, "Keep Me
Far Away from Gary" is baiting me now with harpsichord and strings. I know
it's wrong, but I want more. I've eaten my Pan Sonic! Now I want dessert,
and this will do nicely.
And so it goes. "Dog Run," which disappointingly has nothing to do with the
Iditarod, is nonetheless a pleasing traditional rock song. Klass' affecting
tenor is perfect on "You're On Your Own," a great little ballad with a fine
string arrangement, augmented by some classical guitar figures. If you dig
Ben Folds or Beulah, you're very likely to enjoy "Nowhere After All," a fine
piano-driven ballad. Klass and co-producer Charles Newman strike a good
balance between high and low points, sprinkling the slow numbers widely
enough that the album never feels bogged down. Not to mention the fact that
the production rings quite clearly, and, though dense, never feels
cluttered.
With all that said, I think it's time to let my voice of reason have a word.
Speaking of the Davenports is a solid indie recording. It puts all
the flourishes in the right places, it ends with a gentle acoustic number,
and it features sufficient variety to keep your interest intact the whole way
through. But even so, it sounds like about a zillion other albums out there,
taking a peak at a crowded market and crying, "Me too!" It's better than,
say, Kara's Flowers, but it's no match for Sloan's group vocals and
songwriting. So, dear reader, I guess it's up to you. Do you have room in
your collection for yet another easy-going pop record? If so, this may be
the one for you. Meanwhile, the artwork for Medicine Hat seems to
have a wrinkle in it. Maybe it's time to go buy another copy.
-Joe Tangari