Sigh. The middle of the road. It seems like I find myself here a lot when writing reviews. Sometimes I'd rather get one of the pieces of trash from the gutter to review than yet another 5.0-7.0 disc. See, the thing is, listening to these albums over and over again isn't really a chore or anything, but it's the thought that I'm probably not coming back to them any time soon that makes it feel kind of futile. Plus, I just got an out-of-print Long Fin Killie album that I've been wanting to hear for ages in the mail, and this is keeping me from getting to it.
Ah, but the show must go on. For without reviews of all albums great and terrible, and everything that falls in between, Pitchfork would not exist. And we couldn't have that now, could we? No, of course not. On with it then.
Today's little slab of pavement comes courtesy of Josh Rouse, a young singer/songwriter with two albums and a collaborative EP with Lambchop's Kurt Wagner under his belt-- and, apparently, a lot more where that came from. Let me be forthright: Under Cold Blue Stars is a rather appropriately titled effort that some will delight in and many more will scarcely offer a second thought to. It's by no means a bad record, and there are even several things about it that make it outstanding, but there are just not enough of those things to make it a truly exceptional album.
The biggest problem with this album for me is Rouse himself-- not his writing or his composition, but his voice. By and large, Rouse's vocals come off like a less tuneful, more crack-prone Ryan Adams, though, to be fair, it's the old, obviously sincere Ryan Adams he's being compared to here. The problem arises from the fact that Rouse's songs are essentially pop tunes, and they'd be a lot more immediate if someone with a stronger voice were singing them. His skillful lyrics are also frequently shrouded by his delivery, which is a damn shame because I get the feeling that these little vignettes could be quite affecting if properly read.
Still, Rouse manages at least a couple strong candidates for a single, with opener "Nothing Gives Me Pleasure" and "Miracle." After a brief, orchestrated intro entitled "Twilight," the drums kick in with a spirited rhythm and Rouse enters with only a spare keyboard line for support. The vocals aren't great, but the double-tracking on the chorus of "And don't you know/ Nothing gives me pleasure like you do/ Nothing has the strength to pull me through" helps considerably. The song is aided by its little sonic nuances, like the little looped guitar sounds in the background and the quietly placed keyboard chords that help contour the verses.
"Miracle" follows with a breezy keyboard melody and a brisk beat that grabs the ear perhaps better than anything else on the album. Sadly, Rouse's expertly penned vocal melody is actually upstaged by the keyboards, which simply have a more commanding tone. Still, it's a fine song, with a good sense of dynamics in the bridge and an ultimately memorable melody.
From there, "Christmas with Jesus" enters with some horrid fuzz bass and a less than spectacular melody, and it becomes clear what a mixed bag the rest of the album is going to be. The title track sounds great, with another good keyboard melody, a vague 70s soul feel and some nice vibes work from the Autumn Defense's Pat Sansone. But once again, the vocal melody is compromised by a weak performance. "Feeling No Pain" rises prosodically skyward for its chorus: "Lately I've been feeling no pain/ My heart is wide open, but everything falls into place." The rest of the song works well enough, but doesn't quite match up to the peak of the chorus.
"Ears to the Ground" redeems things to some extent, flowing smoothly on a steady groove augmented by hand percussion. The subtle string flourishes and guitar parts in the background are what really make the song, though, as Rouse's voice is merely serviceable in the understated verses. "Summer Kitchen Ballad" leaves him alone with an acoustic guitar and some very subtle strings, which is inadvisable at best. As it is, the only reason a lot of this music works in the first place is that Rouse offers a strong rhythmic backing for his songs, and without it, his vocal limitations are all the more painfully noticeable.
"The Whole Night Through" is a pleasant closer-- Rouse can actually handle the fine melody this time, partly because he sings in a higher register than usual, which sounds a lot more natural. But it's a pleasant cap to a pleasant album that never really rises much above pleasant. The whole record sounds good, and producer Roger Moutenot (Yo La Tengo, Freedy Johnston) should get a certain amount of credit for creating a unified atmosphere for Rouse's songs to live in. Under Cold Blue Stars ultimately ends up describing the sound of the album almost perfectly, and there's something to be said for that.
But at the end of the day, Under Cold Blue Stars has me feeling pretty indifferent. The record company's claim that these songs are loosely based around the "trials and tribulations of a small-town southern couple in the 1950s" only holds up if you're really looking hard for it, and even then, it seems like a strange claim to make, as the album stands up much better when viewed as a simple collection of ruminations on relationships. This aside, Under Cold Blue Stars stands pretty firmly in the middle of that road I was talking about before, and it's up to you to decide if you want to bother.
