Of all the 1990s indie and alt.rock bands that have returned from the dead in recent years, has anyone come back as totally as Guided by Voices? Robert Pollard's decision to re-assemble GBV's "classic" line-up had obvious nostalgic appeal as a touring unit, though hardcore fans were also delighted by the likeably haphazard bag full of rotten cabbage and cotton candy that was 2012's Let's Go Eat the Factory. After that, the "for old times sake" itch was probably scratched for most people, but GBV went ahead anyway and put out two more classically overstuffed LPs, Class Clown Spots a UFO and The Bears for Lunch. Now comes a new EP, Down by the Racetrack, ahead of another LP, English Little League, due later this year.
Robert Pollard releases a shit-load of albums every year-- what else is new? For one thing, this version of GBV was and is a real band, not just backing musicians dotting the galaxy of Pollard's solo projects. The distinction matters: GBV's 2012 trilogy looked and felt like the albums churned out by this line-up in the mid-90s-- albeit with a slightly worse batting average-- with a wealth of spontaneously produced gems and freeform noisy weirdness. This has long been Pollard's formula, though the racket kicked up on those records unmistakably belongs to this specific set of musicians, and not just because there's a Tobin Sprout vocal on every fifth track. (Though that's a big help.) GBV's recent output has an underappreciated craft and logic to it: Even the draggy, thinking-out-loud dead spots suddenly snap into coherence after three listens in ways Pollard's solo work often doesn't.
Anyone familiar with Guided by Voices' vast discography knows what to expect from Down by the Racetrack before hearing it: EPs have been a familiar oasis for GBV in the months (or weeks) that stretch between albums, providing a forum for songs that are too bizarre or extemporaneous even by this band's shaggy-dog standards. And Down by the Racetrack pretty much is that. "It Travels Faster Through Thin Hair" is one of those Robert Pollard compositions that sounds like it was written two minutes before they hit the "record" button. Pollard's vocal and guitar spend a good 20 seconds trying to find a melody, but once a twangy guitar materializes to act as a guide, he's magically unearthed it, if only for another 20 seconds. "Pictures of the Man" sets an atonal 154 guitar riff and ghostly monk chants on a bloody collision course. "Standing in a Puddle of Flesh" is the mandated-by-GBV-law Genesis tribute, though the perverse piano riff calls back to "Always Crush Me" from Alien Lanes. The title track is the closest thing Racetrack has to a "Shocker in Gloomtown" or "Dusted", with its magnificent glam-rock riff and Sprout's uncharacteristically commanding vocal.
By virtue of being an EP arriving in the midst of so many other GBV releases, Down by the Racetrack is likely to be overlooked. But for anyone curious about the viability of GBV's revived recording career and unsure of where to begin, Racetrack arguably offers the best introduction. GBV is clearly past the the "cash-in" portion of its reunion; Racetrack, like the other recent releases, showcases a band that has fully re-connected with its binge-and-purge creative process, and is back to producing found-object pop and hook-laden doodles at a prodigious clip. Racetrack has all of the mess, melody, magic, and mania of the other records, but in a smaller, more bite-sized, but nonetheless pleasingly indulgent package.
