When Carl Newman of the New Pornographers rebranded himself as the more authorial-sounding A.C. Newman for his first solo record, 2004's The Slow Wonder, indie's foremost creator of over-caffeinated pop-rock signaled a small but important change in direction. On his own, Newman took a deep breath and a couple of steps back from the hopped-up band dynamic of the Pornographers; as A.C. Newman, he was presenting himself in the mold of the thoughtful and introspective pop composer. Wonder and 2009's Get Guilty weren't all that removed from the Pornographers in terms of sound, especially in light of that band's contemplative and somewhat draggy 2007 transitional effort Challengers. But Newman's solo sensibility has been steadily marching toward full-fledged "mature" singer-songwriter-isms for a while now, and the process reaches its full fruition on Shut Down the Streets.
Not only is Newman writing autobiographical songs for the first time, he's announcing it in interviews, underlining the impact that the birth of his son and death of his mother had on his creative process. "There were all these things that just seemed so mammoth, and I was trying to make sense of them," Newman recently told Exclaim! "But at the same time, there's also this subtext of, 'Everybody goes through this. This is so earth-shaking, it seems so impossibly sad and, at the same time, happy.' I didn't want to portray it like I felt like [I] was the first person that's gone through this." The happy/sad divide doesn't only exist in the songs that address fatherhood (the sweetest being the dad-to-son advice-dispensing "There's Money in New Wave") versus the songs about death (the wistful title track). This dichotomy also appears in the space of the same song; on the enchanting "I'm Not Talking", Newman sings about the fear of loss that accompanies getting the family life you've always wanted, over the album's most robust melding of acoustic strumming and lush synths. "Until there's a reason to think I have a shot at redemption/ Until then I'm not talking," he says, hoping to beat out a cosmic jinx.
In the press materials for Streets, there's a defensive aside about the critical prejudice against so-called "dad rock," which in this context refers specifically to music explicitly exploring the joys and melancholy of early parenthood. Streets belongs in the company of records like Wilco's Sky Blue Sky and the Walkmen's Heaven that similarly touch on grown-up themes of responsibility, aging, and the never-ending fight against fucking up a good life you've worked long and hard to establish as middle age looms.
These are worthy, if terribly un-sexy subjects for a record. Newman has never been a lyricist comfortable with direct and easily discernible statements, even (or perhaps especially) when he's writing openly about his own life. But the most heartfelt, eloquent sentiments on Streets are expressed musically. Even if you ignore every word he sings on Streets, the album telegraphs an unsettled sense of contentment. "You Could Get Lost Out Here" includes references to "roots in the ground" and uses a wilderness metaphor to describe the disillusionment that lingers in the background of any long-term relationship. But it's the music-- a sad-sack cowpoke waltz graced with stunning steel-guitar-- that truly makes "Lost" a heartbreaking plea not to let hard-won love unravel.
It's no surprise that a writer as precise and tasteful as Newman would be precise and tasteful with the musical aesthetic of Streets. He's zeroed in on late-70s psych-tinged and synth-accented singer-songwriter records-- specifically referencing the Gordon Lightfoot song "Daylight Katy"-- as an inspiration for the album's "acoustic baroque" sound. The material on Streets that sticks to this vein is most successful; unfortunately, Newman can't sustain the mood over the course of the whole record. Where the album falters, ironically, is with the most Pornographers-like songs, particularly the too-clever "Encyclopedia of Classic Takedowns", which never quite takes off, in spite of a springy bassline and backing vocals from bandmate Neko Case. "Strings" is another non-starter, piling on layers of keyboards and guitars in ways that feel out of place on what's otherwise intended to be a quiet, late-night-with-a-sleeping-baby record.
A would-be song cycle, Streets finds Newman opening up like never before, but it's ultimately stymied by a lack of nerve. Newman's melodic gifts continue to serve the emotional core of his songs well, but he pulls his punches with opaque lyrics and too many wheelhouse-sticking power-pop cuts that keep Streets from achieving the impact it could have had.
