Grandaddy
The Sophtware Slump
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Grandaddy
The Sophtware Slump
V2, 2000
RiYL: Flaming Lips, Pavement, Radiohead |
Just as I was thinking about gouging my eyes out with my thumbs as to avoid any further visual interaction with the ten-foot tall (with a three inch dick) poster of Kid Rock on the wall, I noticed something worthwhile -- Grandaddy's newest album, The Sophtware Slump. It had a flashy sign above it proclaiming that critics everywhere were calling it "album of the year." Another sign boasted of Grandaddy as "The first major talent of the 21st century." I looked to my right, and they were featured on the front of Tower Record's in-house magazine. For a small band from Modesto, California, the hype for this album was astounding.
I had no doubt that The Sophtware Slump could possibly be "Album of the year." I also knew that Grandaddy was talented enough to potentially record an album that would warrant them being heralded as "The first major talent of the 21st century." Their first LP, 1997's Under The Western Freeway had been on steady rotation in my CD player for the last couple years. I had even made a remark to a friend that Grandaddy could someday make an album that would shake the foundations of modern music. Would The Sophtware Slump be that album? I hoped so.
Eager to leave, I picked up the album and headed to the checkout counter. The clerk recognized the CD I was holding and started touching himself and screaming "Grandaddy make me feel soooo good, AHHHH!" Yeah, the whirlwind of hype surrounding this album is that intense. Anyway, I quickly threw some money on the counter and made my way out of the store before the clerk slopped any more Grandaddy-inspired saliva on my face.
When I arrived home I settled in to experience the album that was certain to be a work of genius. The first track, "He's Simple, He's Dumb, He's The Pilot," opens with an effects-laden banjo riff, atmospheric chirps and electronic beeps. Jason Lytle's delicate voice floats above the debris like some boyish angel hovering over a junkyard. The song then takes off with a steady rush of guitars, synthesizers and Lytle's perfectly constructed multi-part harmonies. Suddenly what sounds like a $10 Radio Shack keyboard slices through and the song launches into a driving and gorgeous soundscape that inspires thoughts of space and eternity and raven-haired girls from distant planets. It eventually slows into a mesh of pianos and various unknown sounds and melodies that elevate the song into a realm of staggering beauty.
Unfortunately, Lytle repeats the phrase "Are you giving in 2000 man?" endlessly for the last four minutes of the song. But I'll excuse Jason for his lyrical repetition, because I'm still having lingering thoughts of raven-haired girls from distant planets.
If the rest of The Sophtware Slump was as astonishing its opening 9-minute opus, it may well have qualified as "Album of the year." Sadly enough, this isn't the case. Several songs, such as "Hewlett's Daughter" and "Broken Household Appliance National Forest," collapse under the weight of their own fuzzed out Weezer-esque cuteness. They're certainly finely crafted pop songs with memorable hooks, but they are, however, a far cry from the transcendent splendor of the album's opener.
Other songs such as "Jed The Humanoid" create beautiful collages of sound but become repetitive to the point of irritation. Similarly, the biggest downfall of The Sophware Slump is its predictability. For most of the album, Grandaddy seems content with playing in verse-chorus-verse mode and occasionally throwing in an ambient noise change up to give the appearance of spontaneity.
But otherwise, The Sophtware Slump more than makes up for its repetitiveness with sheer atmosphere and brilliance. "Underneath The Weeping Willow" is a moving ballad of exquisite beauty. A tender piano line seethes underneath Lytle's poignant lyrics, ("I wanna sleep underneath / The weeping willow / As it cries all night quietly / It's tears all around me / I'll sleep there so soundly / Until I'm allowed finally / To wake and be happy again / To wake and be happy again.")
The final track, "So You'll Aim Toward The Sky," is a fitting closer to an album that's injected with images of crashed planes, toppled infrastructure, heartbroken humanoids and vast hills littered with mankind's debris. It's an uplifting orchestral song with ghostlike undercurrents of ozone and sky and air. As Lytle repeatedly sings ("So you'll aim toward the sky / And you'll rise high today / Fly away, far away / Far from pain") you can't help but feel slightly weightless, ready to fly away and float above the technological wasteland painted so vividly in The Sophtware Slump.
While The Sophtware Slump may not qualify in my book as "album of the year," it is -- despite its flaws -- a gorgeous and sprawling record of atmospheric pop. I still stand by my statement that one day Grandaddy will produce a record that will push the boundaries of modern music, much as Radiohead's OK Computer did in 1997. Don't believe the hype, or pay any attention to the drool of Tower Record Employees: Grandaddy isn't there yet. But they may only be one record away.
SHANE STRAIGHT |