The Longest Meow is the anti-Chinese Democracy. Bobby Bare Jr. and his ragtag Young Criminals Starvation League took a mere 11 hours to record these 11 tracks (plus a short ambient intro) completely live (although he admits to overdubbing a trumpet solo). In honor of this fleet feat of phonography, I thought I would write my own review in a mere 11 minutes, using only some hastily scribbled notes ("III. Write about the songs."), a kitchen timer, and a 12th minute for fixing typos. I've already started. Nine minutes, 44 seconds to go. Um, 41...
So. Is this album any good? That's the central question here, isn't it? Answer: More or less. A bit laborious at times, especially toward the end, but it can be charming in an amiably shaggy sort of way, much like the photo of Bare Jr. in the album sleeve. He's armed with his alternately incisive and ignorable lyrics, his typically drawling voice, and a motley crew of backing musicians and hangers-on (Eleven in all. Numerologists?) that include members of My Morning Jacket, Trail of Dead, Lambchop, and Clem Snide. 7:22.
Anyway. After the 30-second instrumental opener (which apparently doesn't count toward the tracklist total), "The Heart Bionic" is BJr. in fine form, indulging his eccentricities as a lyricist, melodicist, and vocalist. It tells of living with a bionic heart. I'd quote some lyrics to that effect, but no time. He obviously savors the constraints of the project and the rascally resourcefulness they inspire in the music. It's like Sam Raimi directing Evil Dead; he's forced to be more creative, which sparks these songs to life. "Back to Blue" is a Latin-flavored strummer that highlights BJr's hangdog vocals, and the sweeping C&W lament "Demon Valley", punctuated by his unexpected mouth pops, recall Bare Sr.'s gentle balladry. If the time limitations inform the album's sound, so too do the 11 musicians. BJr finds surprising ways to work them all in. Everyone sings the big wordless chorus of "Uh Wuh Oh" as if compensating for a fuller rock sound, and uncredited voices provide the honks and beeps for the homegrown bossa nova of "Sticky Chemical". If nothing else, it sounds like the recording limitations inspired considerable studio comraderie and hijinks. 4:20...
Some songs sound like hastily scribbled sketches, obviously disadvantaged by the lack of time. There's not much between the shouted choruses of "Uh Wuh Oh" to justify the song. Same with "Snuggling World Championships", which sounds like a My Morning Jacket outtake (and actually features two members of that band). 2:19...
Oh. The type of music that BJr practices-- informed as much by his father's cohorts as by his post-alt-country-shut-the-fuck-up-I-know-it's-just-a-meaningless-label contemporaries-- thrives on the feel of live spontaneity, the electric dynamic between drums, bass, guitars, and vocals that reflects the rambunctiousness of honkytonks and cramped clubs of rock's past. BJr's always been careful to try to preserve this unruliness in his music, which means that The Longest Meow is no drastic departure from his previous work. In fact, it makes certain songs sound like he's trying too hard to come off as either oddball or off-the-cuff. He obviously doesn't need the stunts: The same qualities that make the album so likable are the same qualities he's exhibited on almost every one of his albums, no matter how it was made. In fact, the creative process is of no importance whatsoever when the TIME
