I enjoy Joan of Arc. I deeply and humbly apologize for this fact. Despite many attempts by the Pitchfork staff to thwart my enjoyment of the band, such as replacing the CDs inside my Joan of Arc cases with different CDs that emit sound waves at levels officially classified by the U.S. government as "sound weaponry," my sinful listening habits cannot be denied. I find myself reading Brent DiCrescenzo's damning reviews, yelling, "No! You've got it all wrong!" and then shamefully bowing my head in penance. Everyone has his or her flaws, and I accept mine. If only they could, too.

Hmm. A new Tim Kinsella EP in my mailbox-- excuse me, Kinsellas. Apparently no one else will take it. I'm happy to, of course. The disc is in a plain manila packing envelope, along with a note scrawled in red crayon that reads: "BAD REVIEW OR YOUR [sic] DEAD... RYAN." On the back is a crude drawing of a cat. My editor means business. Also included is, to my surprise, the new patented Pitchfork Pocket RC (Ratings Computer). I didn't know we were upgrading so soon. I suppose I can adapt. I gulp, set the Pocket RC at my side, put the CD in the player, and press play while scanning the packaging.

The title: He Sang His Didn't He Danced His Did. Does that sound familiar? Yes, and the liner notes prove me right: e.e. cummings. I'd always suspected that one reason I liked Kinsellas and his wacky, nonconformist band was that we shared a love for the same poet. "My Death" begins with acoustic guitar. Traditional Kinsellas, usually preferring an acoustic axe. Seems to find those pesky electrics too unwieldy for his fingerpicking style. I nod understandingly and keep listening, further perusing the liner notes. Interesting-- "My Death" was actually written by Jacques Brel, a classic French songwriter. Not that you can tell, though; it sounds like just another standard Kinsellas tune.

Unfortunately, there's something I'd forgotten about Kinsellas' solo work: without the many distractions that the beats and orchestrations of Joan of Arc provide, his voice seems to take on a whinier quality. It's more noticeable when he misses a note (which turns out to be rather often). In fact, he often comes off quite a bit more tone deaf here. Ouch. This track isn't too pleasant. Ryan will be pleased. Maybe I'll be absolved from my sins now. Maybe I can keep my job. I sweat a little less, relieved from some of the pressure inherent in the situation.

Things continue in the same fashion with two new Kinsellas originals, "Faith Can Mean Can't" and "A Young Man ma-I-d/e a Need." The former brings a few nice moments, but fails to leave a very memorable impression. The latter, however, stands as Kinsellas' worst musical contribution to society thus far, featuring a deadly combination of his vocals at their most intolerable and his lyrics at their most horribly obscure. The acoustic guitar sounds pleasant as usual, but Kinsellas lyrics say it all: "My allegiance to the distants," he whimpers, "is like smiling/ Squatting naked over the mirror/ With a shit-smear moustached lip/ And two fingers in my ass." I am almost ready to consider myself evil for liking even a moment of his work by the time he gets to the line, "And why can't we stop all this blowjobishness?"

The next four tracks on He Sang His Didn't He Danced His Did are solo Kinsellas versions of Joan of Arc songs; the first two are taken from Live in Chicago, 1999, and the last two from 1998's How Memory Works. I become interested again, attempting to forget previous horrors, and wondering how different the new versions will be. I notice slight differences in the titles from their precursors: "Me (Plural)" becomes "Me (Pluralesque)." "(In Fact I'm) Pioneering New Emotions" becomes "Pionerring New Emotions." "A Party Able Model Of" becomes "A Party Able Mode." "So Open; Hooray!" becomes "So Open; Hurrah!" So this is what they mean when they call him pretentious.

Kinsellas keeps with the flow of the record and converts the Joan of Arc tracks to his straightforward acoustic style. His singing still induces a cringe here and there, but he doesn't stretch his range as much. Still, I find that there's a reason I enjoy these songs in the Joan of Arc domain: the fascinating effects and elaborate multi-tracking often hold my rapt attention. There's a wild difference between the 100+ layered tracks used on The Gap and the two used here. And although there are still some pretty guitar moments, I quickly become bored. Only on "So Open; Hurrah!" does the Joan of Arc aesthetic come into play. Kinsellas repeats the same guitar and vocal phrase over the last couple minutes, but mixes it up by slicing up the tape and piecing it back together, often cutting himself off mid-sentence and fragmenting the rhythm in the process.

And so it ends. I hesitantly pick up the Pocket RC and, decoding the symbols on the various function keys, enter in the separate variables. Suddenly, while calculating the total, my device electrically shocks me, and I drop it to the floor. I bend down to look at my jumbled, smoking wreck of a calculator. The LCD scrolls a simple message: "TK SUX - REVENGE IS MINE - BD." Damn. I'd been wondering why I hadn't been told about this new rating system: it was DiCrescenzo behind all this. Well, it wasn't necessary, Mr. D. In terms of your motives, my judgment should suffice. I'm not that flawed after all.

-Spencer Owen