I've seen both Bob Pollard and his Boston Spaceships alike sweat it out in half-sold halls here in Chicago more than a few times in the years since GBV last came around. Tickets to the Chicago date on the classic-era GBV reunion tour, however, were gone in 90 seconds (it's since been relocated to a larger venue, understandably). The recent solo shows are as ever overgenerous, mic-twiling, high-kicking affairs, but I get the difference. That period-- the one that produced Propeller, Bee Thousand, Alien Lanes, and Under the Bushes Under the Stars-- saw Pollard's songs go from pretty good R.E.M. knockoffs to messy, madcap affairs, brimming over with daring and varied ideas. Bob's post-GBV solo work, despite a recent hot streak, has also run awfully cold from time to time, with a bleary introspection and far knottier songcraft homing in on some of GBV's straight-up rocking. Then as now, Pollard seemed capable of conjuring almost anything, but back then, his band was better, his foil (the oft-diminshed Tobin Sprout) more suitable, his success rate simply higher. It's no wonder everyone wants back in.
Shame, then, that in the midst of celebrating this storied period in Pollard's history, he'd offer up something as dusky, dour, and samey as his latest, Moses on a Snail, a record as far removed from the classic-era stuff as almost anything he's done. It's the kind of obstinate record only an equally obstinate fan could love, but for anybody looking to raise a glass to "Glad Girls", Moses is going to feel drab and far too downtrodden. Not the kind of thing you put on to get yourself pumped for three hours of bombast and beersweat, anyhow.
Moses on a Snail lurches to a start with the somber "The Weekly Crow", and its mood never quite recovers. It's a mostly terse, torpid affair, lots of gusty ballads and keening prog, the odd riff-rocker coming across especially odd amidst the overarching glower. The melodies tend toward listless, his vocal delivery often muted; most of these tunes resulted from a songwriting binge epic even by Pollard standards, and you can almost hear that particular afternoon's black cloud hanging over most of these tunes, which rarely stray above a lumpy midtempo. Songpiles that most of them are, Pollard records rarely skew this monolithic, and Moses can feel at times like an album-length sulk.
A little time sussing out Moses' subtleties turns up a few bright spots; "Lie Like a Dog" starts out a little sluggish before sliding into an oscillating glam strut that should've served as the song's centerpiece. "Ice Cold War" is more swagger than song but at least gets the first part right, and the colliding melodies of "Each Is Good in His Own House" wouldn't be enough on their own but manage to captivate in tandem. The pure and simple "Teardrop Paintballs" has a bit of a "Goldheart Mountaintop Queen Directory" thing going for it, and Pollard's voice rings out strong over the mostly unadorned track. And, strange as they seem amidst the drowsy immutability that surrounds them, the scat singing that closes out the positively goofy "Big Time Wrestling" and producer Todd Tobias' sinuous fretwork on the title track rescue their respective cuts from total anonymity. But taken as a whole, the glum, inflexible Moses proves a slog, underscoring just why lively and eclectic have done Pollard so well for so long.
In inclimate weather, in the event of a breakup, in case you simply cannot put on Sunfish Holy Breakfast again, Moses on a Snail might do the trick. But it's tough to imagine even the Pollard diehards reaching for this one much, arriving as it does in the midst of a hot streak now a couple of years running. There's just no takeaway hooks, few clever turnarounds, not much but a bad mood transferred from creator to listener. In that, it's effective. But, should Bob and the boys feel compelled to break out anything as indolent as "How I've Been in Trouble" when they return to the stage in a couple of months, that beer line's gonna be a nightmare.
