Benjamin Gibbard is basically synonymous with Death Cab for Cutie, and it was under that name that the man helped establish indie rock as a commercially viable and musically accessible entity for the 21st Century. But rather than simply riding the momentum of the Death Cab moniker as an easily recognizable catch-all for his work, Gibbard has desired to step out under his own full name with the release of Former Lives. Unfortunately very little of the artistry found in his best stuff shines through; it’s an unfocused, unrewarding LP.
Detractors of Death Cab for Cutie are often haters of the very idea of “mainstream-indie” as a category. What these naysayers tend to ignore is that any musical form or movement that has the legs to span decades of development will eventually sprout an accessible wing. So instead of taking up space debating the validity of indie music that’s appeal spreads beyond the interest of those with a walk-in closet full of band shirts that three people in their town recognize, let’s get down to the worth of Former Lives. Shall we?
The album begins with “Shepherd’s Bush Lullaby” an a cappella pleasantry that despite its brief running time still manages to recall other artists of somewhat similar genre geography that have likewise utilized the nude voice in song form (specifically I’m reminded a bit of They Might be Giants and Robyn Hitchcock) though to its credit it’s brevity sounds basically like Ben Gibbard going it alone and coming off all bare and pretty-like. All in all, it’s not a bad way to begin, though it’s ultimately not representative of the meat of Former Lives’ matter.
“Dream Song” is more illustrative of the albums’ wares, and one of its better tracks, presenting a mid-tempo acoustic progression with some mild accents of electric guitar and piano, a steady drum beat anchoring the tune as Gibbard’s sturdy vocalizing rides over the top. There’s even a nice bit of dreamy floating in its third minute that unfortunately never takes off, and the song ends feeling half finished. On a stronger album this sort of gesture of denial can pay dividends, but here it simply nags as anti-climatic.
“Teardrop Windows” finds Gibbard melding his mainstream indie sound into the realm of guitar-pop singer-songwriter territory, which again isn’t a bad place for him to be. Problem is the song hovers short of ever really taking off. This is a solidly post-Springsteen environment, a place where the more emboldened students of the style would engage in livelier dynamics and a maybe even a broader instrumental palate than the standard dual guitar, bass/drums and (of course) vocals. “Teardrop Windows” cries out for a ripping organ break and some tougher execution, but Gibbard elects to keep things at a simmer and the tune ends without reaching the peak that it really needs.
“Bigger than Love” ups the tempo and stretches out a bit, with Gibbard sharing vocals and alternating verses with Aimee Mann to solid but far from spectacular effect. A big part of the problem is that the song strives to beget an emotional response (or at least an atmosphere) that it never achieves; this is a well trodden template and not at all a bad one when pulled off with panache, offering moments of songic transcendence through human struggle with aching and soaring music to match, but despite its uptick in tempo, “Bigger than Love” never gets into high gear, traveling securely in the middle of the road.
“Lily” goes to great lengths to describe its titular character and is a mercifully short bit of pretty insubstantiality that feels aggressively concocted to get lovers hugging in the club when Gibbard takes this album out on tour. Now, there is not a thing wrong with the hugging of lovers, but “Lily” treats preciousness as a virtue and ends up simply oozing overwrought lovey-dovey stuff. But it’s sure to make great mix-tape bait for the shy younger types, so I guess it does have a plus side.
“Something’s Rattling (Cowpoke)” integrates Tex-Mex horn ambiance to puff up what’s actually a rather anemic (to say nothing of trite) song idea and ends up registering as exceedingly frustrating. Up to this point, Former Lives has erred on the side of rather predictable instrumentation and frankly to a fault. But in an obvious attempt to broaden the sound this cut flounders mightily.
Those Tex-Mex horns feel like they came from a can, which was clearly deliberate. But I can’t shake that it’s a very suspect strain of indie derived cleverness, eventually mingling with the sort of lilting and lush (and at this late date, faceless) string-section atmosphere that can be purchased with any modest recording budget.
Thankfully the next track is better, the Beatles-esque “Duncan, Where Have You Gone?” Better but very far from great; opening with piano and some ‘70s session-drummer plod, it briefly had me thinking of a hung over Jackson Browne riffing on “Hey Jude.” But as the song emanates its airy glide, it starts to feel like the work of an artist that might just dig Double Fantasy more than any album actually credited to The Beatles. So perhaps some points of chutzpah.
“Oh, Woe” delivers the kind of sound that can hypothetically be played at moderate volume in public spaces (the coffee-shop, the bagel joint, the book store, the corner grocery) without getting on anyone’s nerves. While some might scoff at this trait, it isn’t a detracting element in itself. Lots of fine music can be said to fit this description; pretty much all of Luna, much of The Shins, Sufjan Stevens’ Illinois LP, a bunch of songs from the Decemberists, Low’s I Could Live in Hope LP, and yes Death Cab itself.
But “Oh, Woe” and far too much of Former Lives for that matter feels calculated to just this sort of acceptance, and possibly due to these attempts at wide-scale likability the album lacks spark. I speculate that shorn of Gibbard’s vocals it would be near impossible to pinpoint from where “Oh, Woe” came. No, music shouldn’t be reduced to a game of “pick the personality,”but what’s here connects as being so fussed over for maximum palatability that it’s generic and downright underwhelming. Not to belabor the point, but if Death Cab for Cutie was surely a mainstream indie act, the best stuff Gibbard produced under that name never suffered from this level of premeditation. Rather, it seemed to arrive at its accessible personality fairly naturally.
“A Hard One to Know” seems to be Former Lives’ single, and that it only partially overcomes the problems that precede it in the track order is quite indicative of the record’s problems. The twelve songs here were also apparently written over an eight year period, information that sadly reinforces a growing sense of unfocused singer-songwriterism.
“A Hard One to Know” shoots for the electrifying and falls short (though it’s one of the album’s more enjoyable songs), while the next track “Lady Adelaide” strives as a tender portrait, but struggles to escape the banal, with both cuts lacking any kind of emotional connectivity. Former Lives starts to feel like a bunch of undistinguished outtakes.
“Broken Yolk in Western Sky” is the LP’s faux-country moment, and it does nothing to reverse the course. On the contrary, as its penultimate entry, it deepens Former Lives status as a highly disappointing batch of undernourished songs. In the end, polite pedal steel and loping rhythms can’t hide subpar tunes.
Nothing here except for “Something’s Rattling (Cowpoke),” which grows to become obnoxious with repeated listens, is accurately tagged as annoying. Former Lives is sadly plagued with a lack of substance and as such is not the record I’d want to hear while having a bad day.
It’s really not unusual for the closing tracks of not very good LPs to display a rise in quality over what led to them, and that’s the case here. “I’m Building a Fire” is just Gibbard and a lone acoustic, and it’s easily the best song on the album. But boy is it too little too late, and it’s tempting to attribute the song’s agreeable charms to how it contrasts with the rest of the disc.
Ben Gibbard has done much better and hopefully he’ll get it all back on track. But Former Lives is a huge letdown, the kind of bad record that’s curiously associated to veteran musicians who have achieved a certain level of fame. So its procurement is only really advisable for completists and/or those afflicted with a severity of fandom, of which this just might serve as a cure. Others should wait for the next one.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
D
