There are albums you love and there are albums you hate. Somewhere between east and west are the albums that neither pleasure your eardrums nor puncture them. At best, these albums are ordinary. At worst, they're obnoxious. Unfailingly, these records add little to the great panoply of the grand experience we call music. And in a world where 35,000 albums are released each year, they not only occupy vital shelf space, but their mere existence exacerbates the already challenging task of discovering true brilliance. They are anathema to our noble cause. And as a result, we ought to attack them like coked-up mongooses.
From track one, vocalist and songwriter Mike Johnson is front-and-center. His songwriting style, not surprisingly, won't shatter your notion of consonance; the first track, "Miss Haze," features Johnson and his acoustic guitar strumming lazily through a groundbreaking G-C progression. The progression doesn't change. By the end, Johnson is still strumming a measure of G. Then a measure of C. Then a measure of G. Then a measure of C. You get the idea.
Many arrangements on Reclinerland approximate the two-chord progression of "Miss Haze," with Johnson self-consciously moaning in the foreground. Commonplace arrangements would be fine if Reclinerland was a melody-focused effort; but as far as I can tell, it's not. And if it is, someone needs to adjust the sharpness.
"Pound Coins" shows off another of Johnson's weaker points-- a smidge of tone-deafness. When he gets courageous and tries singing some high notes (the chorus, "I walked along/ Mispronouncing all the funny names"), he's clearly just a bit flat. Some call it cute and endearing; I call it annoying. "Pound Coins" isn't the only manifestation of the disability, either. It shows up, regrettably, on more than a few tracks ("19th Century Boy" and "Dirty and Clean," for example).
My campaign against mediocrity notwithstanding, can I say nice things about Reclinerland? Sure, I can (sidenote: I can also say nice things about Lifehouse). In and of itself, and in the hands of an unbiased listener (read: not me), this stuff ain't bad. The lyrics are often poetic and appealingly witty, like this lyric from "Eight": "I must have walked around in circles for a matter of days/ I think I've broken the record for just standing in one place/ I think I've lost all the feeling in the right side of my brain/ It's hard to explain." Unfortunately, they can also be as trite as the chord progressions, like the Jimmy V-inspired "I want you so badly/ Don't give up, don't give up," from "Meet Me Later in the File Room."
In addition to strong lyrics, a few of the songs pull it all together, like "Vegas Remains," which fingerpicks instead of strumming a chord progression and adds some sentimental schmaltz about how Johnson "knows we're really just eight pages," whatever that means. Finally, the man strikes a consistent mood-- sweet and thoughtful-- that I'm certain resonates with at least a few of the under-25 crowd.
There are good reasons I don't drive a Chevy Caprice Classic, eat Wonder Bread, live in Iowa, or root for Vinny Testaverde. For roughly the same reasons, you won't find me lavishing in the mellow hues of Reclinerland. A pleasant listen, but pleasant is about as far as I'm willing to go with this one.
