For Canadian romantics Stars, love is war. And their modern love is strikingly similar to the world's modern war: confusion and anxiety topped with a sense of semi-staged dread. The presentation is great-- clean production, fine instrumentation, and careful arrangements-- but its undercurrent is pure self-doubt and longing. So while the quintet pushes its passion-based politics to the fore and includes the phrase "after the war" in the title of its fourth album, the emphasis is still "in our bedroom." Assuming you can dodge enough bullets to make it there.
Of course, the intricacies of relationships have always been Stars' specialty. "I am trying to say what I want to say without having to say I love you," chirped co-leads Torquil Campbell and Amy Millan on 2004's minor masterpiece Set Yourself on Fire, and the line's roundabout Valentine's Day logic could double as a band mantra. What sets their new album apart from previous material is setting, scope, and a newly inflated theatrical bent. Considering his decade-spanning IMDb resume-- not to mention an award nomination for 1983's boy-meets-sea creature drama The Golden Seal-- Campbell's mannered, Moz-y vocal delivery is hardly surprising. He's a ham, plain and simple. The singer's over-the-top preening is Stars' most divisive characteristic but, instead of toning things down, his acting chops and sense of Broadway pomp permeate Bedroom's high-gloss pop more than before. And, as any Hollywood-type will tell you, an actor is only as good as his script.
Playing a pill-popping whore looking to shatter his dead-end existence on the U2-style "Take Me to the Riot", Campbell brings his pitiful role to life with compassion. Backed by smashing cymbals and chiming tones, his ad-libbed plea to "let me stay, let me, let me stay!" erases the distance between the performer and his character. The Les Mis-esque weeper "Barricade" doesn't fare as well: Its storyline is trite (a couple brought together-- then torn apart-- by a common, radical cause!) and, accompanied by a lone piano, there's nothing for Campbell to hide behind. But even if it approaches cheeseball bluster, at least it's sorta ballsy. Muddled by forced postmodern nonsense and an oddly lifeless narrative, "Life 2: The Unhappy Ending" is about as boring as its title. Ironically, though she might not possess a SAG card, Millan's dramatic abilities often trump her partner's on Bedroom-- she's more subtle and natural whether nailing the album's straight-ahead pop songs on her own or bringing out Campbell's best on a couple stand-out duets.
Both "My Favourite Book" and "Bitches in Tokyo" find Millan pining for affection in unequivocal terms. "Book" runs with the blind optimism of the group's indie-hit "Ageless Beauty"-- a rare moment of guilelessness buoyed by an easy listening backdrop that would make Burt Bacharach giddy. The song provides a brief but welcome respite from the hurt and rejection surrounding it. (As if to immediately deflate the cheeriness, Millan snaps out of her rose-pedal haze with the first words of the following track: "Sweetness never suits me." Never say never.) "Bitches" isn't as dizzy-- after a plethora of "mistakes," "lying" and "sabotage," Millan can't help but beg an ex to take her back. But even with all that baggage, the singer makes a convincing case with the help of some blistering girl-group drums, piano and horns. Short and without reservation, the song avoids some of the indulgent outros and solos that tank Bedroom's lesser Millan-sung tracks including the guitar-grinding "Window Bird" and lethargic pep talk "Today Will Be Better, I Swear!"
As on Set Yourself on Fire's incredible "Your Ex-Lover Is Dead", which had Campbell and Millan not just backing each other up but interacting and playing off each other in a bittersweet boy-girl tale, Bedroom's "Midnight Coward" and "Personal" take full advantage of the band's unique two-headed attack. The former is a neurotic internal analysis of that oh-so-important first-date question: Should I stay or should I go? "I don't want to say too much," whispers Millan, rifling through the night's possibilities before finally joining Campbell into the unknown: "I can see what's coming, but I'm not saying it." On the surface, "Personal" is a gimmick-- a song written in personal ad parlance ("Wanted single F/ Under 33/ Must enjoy the sun/ Must enjoy the sea"). But both vocalists give the song their most impressive performances-- Campbell distant and cold, Millan vulnerable and pained-- turning its showy conceit into something genuinely wrenching. The ambiguously antiquated details emphasize its timeless central struggle: Stamped missive or Match.com, the face-to-face (dis)connection's the thing.
Growing more staged, warier, and a little less playful with age, Stars don't quite match the wily rush of Set Yourself on Fire here. After three albums of artistic quantum leaps, they slow down gracefully on Bedroom, replacing Fire's indie-symphony twists and turns with more overt dramatic airs that can fall into blubbering melodrama, e.g., the title track, which suffocates under its own ticker-tape parade epic-ness. But when they're on, Stars are one of only a few current bands that can make war seem so appealing.
