Hang around with bands long enough and you are bound to hear some drummer jokes. They aren't the most sophisticated expressions of humor: What do you call someone who hangs out with musicians? A drummer! Even kindergarteners can pick up on the subtlety of the stereotype-- drummers are stupid!-- but they are a time-honored tradition that must be at least as old as rock'n'roll itself. So with the announcement that the drummer from Aloha and White Williams is releasing his second album, it's not hard to hear a punchline. (What's the last thing the drummer said to his former band mates? "Hey guys, let's play one of my songs!") Especially since his solo debut, 2006's brainy, ambient collection Illuminated Manuscript, seemed to prove so many of those jokes right. But luckily there is something different about Sparklace.
Perhaps Cale Parks is finally letting his day-job work seep into his solo career. Aloha have moved away from their vibraphone-heavy, experimental sound into sweet indie pop territory, and, on Sparklace, Parks fills in his chilly, sample-heavy ambiance with charming melodies that listeners can latch on to. And White Williams is a master of the kind of glassy, glammy groove that Parks now uses as the foundation for all of his aloof compositions. So the result is an album that maintains the cerebral focus of its predecessor while giving in to the hedonistic impulses that were missing from it. "Every Week Ends" oozes a wistful 1980s vibe similar to M83's "Kim and Jessie", complete with those big, fist-in-the-air, Breakfast-Club drums. And "Two Haunt Me", the disc's best song, feels like the emo-techno of the Postal Service's Jimmy Tamborello thanks to a repetitive, gurgling keyboard line, the addition of some ethereal female vocals, and a heavily sedated melody that drifts languidly over a muted recording of skittering, thumping dance-punk rhythms. Other songs feature even more addictive beats. "A Long Time in the Air", for instance, finds a nice islands-inspired groove, and spazzy "Some Sew, Some Find", with its krautpunk throttle and funky disco breakdown, is proof that if Parks allows his music to reflect his rhythms instead of fight against them, he can be a success.
Ironically, given Parks' primary role as a percussionist, there is very little dynamic diversity throughout the album, with almost every song registering a languorous, narcoticized pulse. The tape experiments that bookend the collection are superfluous. And though the organic nature of his samples slightly warms up his frosty aesthetic-- Parks is actually playing those manipulated drumbeats and vibraphone clangs, not just spinning them out of synthesizers-- it often feels too detached to fully invest in. The songs, therefore, bleed into one another without much to distinguish one from another, and Sparklace feels like it's been painted in a wash of pastels without much vibrancy to jump off the page (save the practically neon-hued "Some Sew, Some Find").
Criticisms aside, this disc still represents a huge step forward from Parks' last solo outing. There's one drummer joke that goes: What's the difference between a drummer and a savings bond? The savings bond will mature and make money (ba dum bum). And while we don't know whether Sparklace will rake in the dough, the album is certainly concrete proof of its creator's maturity. So although listeners will inevitably suffer some fatigue from so many similar-sounding songs, Cale Parks may get the last laugh after all.
