Now It's Overhead
Now It's Overhead
[Saddle Creek; 2001]
Rating: 6.0
Alright, first off, Now It's Overhead do not sound like the Cure. They don't
sound like Depeche Mode, they don't sound like Spiritualized, and they sure as
hell don't sound like My Blood Valentine. There can only be three reasons for
critics to make such comparisons in their reviews:
1) They're deaf
2) They've never listened to any of these seminal bands
3) They used the Saddle Creek website as a cheat sheet
I'm guessing #3, primarily because the same comparisons are made in the band's
promotional material. Likewise, about half of the web's reviews of this
self-titled debut begin with the fact that Now It's Overhead is the first
non-Nebraskan act signed to Saddle Creek. At least this promo factoid points
us in the right direction, because Athens, Georgia is home to both Now It's
Overhead and most of the Elephant 6 collective. They share a unique blend of
psychedelic pop and indie rock, far from the darkwave and shoegazer tendencies
you'd imagine from all those reviews.
Like the individual Elephant 6 groups, the Now It's Overhead project arises from
the vision of a singular songwriter. In this case, the iconic bandleader is Andy
LeMaster, who wrote most of the songs and played a lot of the instruments. The
band is rounded out by Orenda Fink and Maria Taylor, more commonly known as the
lovely duo Azure Ray. They provide gentle backing harmonies to LeMaster's lead
and play an assortment of keyboards that mix nicely with Clay Leverett's
versatile drumming. LeMaster is one-third owner of Athens' Chase Park
Transduction studio, and his recording experience is evident in the unique
production work throughout, a mysterious aura both high in fidelity and abstract
in definition. But despite all they have going for them, I just don't like a
lot of these songs.
Take the first, "Blackout Curtain," for example. It starts promisingly enough,
with the soft patter of percussion and the faintest hint of Azure Ray-style
sighing in the background. Then guest vocalist Melissa Etheridge steps in.
Except it's not her; it's just Andy LeMaster's twangy whine. Don't get me wrong--
I don't have anything against southern accents. It's just that his voice in
particular pierces with its almost unbearably desperate pitch. Worse, after the
verse builds into a hopeful mix of keyboard and acoustic guitar, the chorus goes
all gospel. The instruments drop out in one of those calculated radio-hit
moments and the voices rise in harmony: "Don't ever go away from here, and I
will never go away." If there's any soul at all here, it's streaming on down
from Billy Joel's "River of Dreams."
Likewise, the second track lights up like an ELO epic, with the same "ah-ah-ah"
electronic pulse. The lyrics might stab at your heart, though: "Your goddamn
uncle changed you some/ When you were five, more than once." LeMaster narrates
the runaway well, very Teena Brandon-esque; it's hard to mock a story about abuse.
But this song is called "Who's Jon," you see, and LeMaster short circuits
everything with the kind of pap sentiment that Boys Don't Cry had the sense to
avoid: "Who's Jon anyway? What does it mean, what did you expect me to say?"
If only Number Five could appear and start breakdancing. He'd have more
personality than this Jon D'oh.
"Hold Your Spin" starts off nice with whispering keyboards that give way to a
relentless, militaristic thump and LeMaster's distorted vocals. The song shifts
suddenly to a bouncy Ben Folds-style bridge, accented by strange claps radiating
from different spots in the speaker. But every incidence of pop decency seems
spoiled by the goofy choruses: "Were you born sideways? Did you have to rotate?"
In some ideal world, this music would be the catchy chatter on the radio. But
I've realized that this is the same pop inanity I'd make fun of if it were all
over the airwaves. Sure, "6th Grade Roller" is a great driving song, with its
danceable beat, maracas and analog synth, but do you really need to hear, "Fly
around a ring/ I fly around a ring," repeated ad nauseum? It's been trapped in
my head all day.
The later songs lose the pop luster and gain lyrical sensitivity. "Wonderful
Scar" links a childhood accident with growing up, and the simple electric guitar
chords and cymbal crashes make it a touching vignette. LeMaster's twang softens
as the album moves on, and his composition skills become evident. The sparse
drums and piano on "With a Subtle Look" illustrate a painful absence as he sings,
"We started off across the room, locking eyes and subtle clues/ Connection then
devotion grew, closer than our mothers knew... Now all the words we saved return
to curse your name." Voices spiral eerily in the background, a disembodied drone
used again in the splintered percussion and humming ambience of the melancholy
album closer, "A Skeleton on Display."
Now It's Overhead is a very personal album. If you enjoy Olivia Tremor Control,
Neutral Milk Hotel or Elf Power, add a point or two to this rating. You might
enjoy the combination of surreal production and unconventional rock, as well as
LeMaster's ability to write songs that delve between the black-and-white into
emotional complexity. But to compare: if Mercury Rev's Deserter's Songs
illustrates its tale of relationships through a window into pastoral Americana,
Now It's Overhead tells a fragmented tale of a boy's coming-of-age framed
through some superficial tricks from popular radio. The moodiness is a pill
that's sweetened to the point where I gag. So I can't help but warn: you might
want to duck this one.
-Christopher Dare, November 16th, 2001