Traditional Pitchfork jurisprudence dictates that, should an artist sound a great deal like his influences, his music will often stand or fall on the quality of those influences. If the influences are deemed credible and prudent, the music produced in the wake of them will stand, unless: 1) it is a cheap ripoff; 2) a commercialized update; 3) shitty. Examples of influences that generally enjoy deference include the Beatles, Can, and the Velvet Underground.
Other influences, should they surface in a modern artist's music, must be subjected to more rigid scrutiny. These are artists whose aggregate work product amounts to two good songs on a box set, or one on a greatest hits compilation. These are the fads, six-hit wonders, and bygone anachronisms from the pop-rock of old. Most never recorded any decent music in the first place, and the very fact that an artist actually knows their full catalog nearly sounds the death knell by itself. Examples of influences subjected to strict scrutiny criticism include the Grateful Dead and Aerosmith. Instances in which evidence of these influences will stand are rare, but they do exist. For example, an apparent Duran Duran influence may survive a Pitchfork review if it is stunningly ironic.
You can squint until your eyes are shut, but you just won't find the irony in Knotworking. Edward Gorch, lead singer and songwriter of the Albany, NY folk-pop outfit, has chosen for himself without a doubt one of the most irredeemable and least advisable influences in the history of rock and roll. For as popular as Cat Stevens was in his heyday, it seems that, in modern times, he's about as relevant as an abacus. His music, while a staple for weed-loving audiences in the 70's, has thus far managed to evade any influence on younger weed-loving generations. And Gorch has clearly listened to several albums by Allah's chosen pop icon. Unfortunately, his choice of influences also means that, as a matter of rote Pitchfork constitutionalism, he was doomed from the outset: the voice and lyrical melodrama are straight from the Cat himself. Moreover, since Gorch obviously doesn't have the same sort of production budget at his disposal, the orchestration and musicianship are relatively simple, leading not only to average music, but consistently average music.
It's really a hard presumption for Gorch to overcome. He tries-- "Imbecile Smile" is solid proof that the man isn't without talent of his own. But even then, the power of the song is drawn solely from a crescendo of instrumental dissonance, not from the strength of the melody. "Lawn Plastic Santa," on the other hand, has a decent guitar hook and vocal melody, but employs dreadful song structure, repeating the same verse-chorus-bridge pattern over and over a good five or six times. As for the aforementioned Stevens idolatry, the pinnacle comes on "Manuel," where Gorch's voice fully morphs into Cat's trademark whinny.
In the end, Gorch offers little to redeem his choice of influences. Yes, he puts his own folksy downtempo spin on things, but when you're dealing with shitty music, simply slowing it down isn't a huge improvement. Accordingly, this album must be found wanting. In the future, Gorch would do well to stock up on indie-approved influences like Nick Drake and Tom Waits, because the current formula is definitely "knotworking."
