About 10 years ago, around the time Verbena were tipped to be the next Nirvana, there was talk that Birmingham, Alabama, might be the next Seattle. Just like every other next Seattle prediction, it didn't come to pass. Verbena all but vanished, and prognosticators began looking elsewhere for new next Seattles: Williamsburg, Omaha, Montreal, somewhere in North Carolina. Even if it lost that buzz, Birmingham did manage to produce such solid acts as Azure Ray and its solo projects, Louis Schefano (of Regia and Louis), and 13ghosts, and the city continues to cultivate an indie scene centered around clubs like the Bottle Tree. Then there are those two "American Idol" winners... just kidding.
More recently, this hospitable environment has given us Through the Sparks, a group of childhood friends who pooled all their equipment into the makeshift Alamalibu Studios. Their first full-length, Lazarus Beach, follows their 2005 debut EP, Coin Toss-- both on local Skybucket Records. Like labelmates and fellow Birmingham natives 13ghosts, Through the Sparks favors a slightly ramshackle approach that incorporates disparate styles into a compelling clutter. Lazarus Beach is a sophisticated sprawl of sound and songs, with elements of power pop, 70s singer/songwriter, prog, indie guitar rock, and even some smooth southern soul.
The album opens strong with "L. Roi", on which Jody Nelson sings about a friend who committed suicide. As a deceptively chirpy six-note melody gently nudges the song along, Nelson sounds like he's struggling to maintain his composure, and just when it sounds like he might lose it, a saxophone comes in from nowhere, offers a few kind words, then ushers the song to its gentle finale, where Stax horns offer comfort. "L. Roi" derives its power from its subdued performance-- no "Black Parade" hysterics-- and serves as a fine introduction to the band.
Such is the gravity of that opener that everything afterwards feels a little frivolous by comparison, but at least Through the Sparks realize that personal loss doesn't make them unique. Instead, they look outward-- way, way outward. "Mexico (Every Last Buffalo)", one of many concept-driven songs on Lazarus Beach, considers American imperialism as wanderlust on a grand scale. Decorated with a hint of bossa nova organ and a nervously double-time guitar solo, the lyrical imagery sounds pat, its whimsy a little too forced: "Please Dianetically explain this urge to roam," Nelson sings. "In the name of Kennedy let's give the moon a mall." But the slow-building momentum, culminating in Spoon-ish repetitions of "shake shake it off/ For a second" (the song's best moment and perhaps the album's), could excuse any sin.
Through the Sparks' eclecticism can be exciting as well as a little frustrating, as these songs indulge seemingly every idea that crossed the band members' brains. A short carnival interlude interrupts the otherwise tight "Falling Out of Favor with the Neighbors", drawing attention from Nelson's sh-boom-booms on the final chorus. Most of the album's second half sounds discursive and unfocused: The short "segue" tracks are intrusive when they actually register with your ear, while songs like the instrumental "The Smile of Your Shadow" and "Only the Messenger" sacrifice melody for murky atmosphere. Fortunately, these dubious experiments are redeemed by songs like "Local Moon", which channels a young Elvis Costello, and "The Final If and When" and "A Natural Machine", which end Lazarus Beach on a strong note. If digression is a local tendency-- and an admirable one at that-- then Through the Sparks are best when they're most disciplined, when their musical wanderlust doesn't take them too far off track.
