Ah, death, taxes, and another Matt Pond PA album steeped in adult alternative at its blandest-- the three certainties in life. Despite betraying his own moniker by transplanting from Pennsylvania to Brooklyn a few years ago, as well as the constant reshuffling of his musicians, Pond remains convinced that slow, steady, and innocuous wins the race. So without further ado, here's Last Light, MPPA's umpteen-trillionth release and first to deal with the themes of melancholic love and nighttime since some EP he released earlier this morning.
Remember that old joke about the Spice Girls selling so many albums yet you never knew anyone who owned one? MPPA provide an even more puzzling version of that paradox. Even with indie being steadily infiltrated by the smooth World Cafe aromas of AAA, it's hard conceiving what type of audience MPPA's tailored to. Their teenage pathos alienates anyone over 20, while teeny boppers have been slow to embrace a band with an aesthetic reminiscent of their parents' Phil Collins and David Gray CDs. Sure, they appeared on an "O.C." soundtrack, but their contributions were Neutral Milk Hotel and Oasis covers, begging the question-- is this band any more relevant than Howie Day?
Last Light's impressive guest list answers yes to this question, though the resulting music hardly supports that conclusion. Pond hopes some of Neko Case's alt-country expertise rubs off on twangy barroom ballad "Taught To Look Away", but her cameo's too short and too sweet. Guest producer Rob Schnapf, best known for his work on early Beck material and Elliott Smith's final four albums, proves no match for Pond's unwavering pop pabulum as Last Light sounds no grittier or darker than previous MPPA albums, excepting the brief, twisted X/O homage "Wild Girl" or dreamy piano-gaze of "Until the East Coast Ends", both tracks lasting less than two minutes. Rooney's Taylor Locke also drops by to pepper Pond's stale acoustic arrangements with some electric guitar, but his solos feel painfully mercenary, attempting to inject edge into songs not at all willing to shed their life-preservers.
So why doesn't the indie universe just pull the plug on this not-so-closet cafe band? Well, Pond occasionally manages to pull off a roaring, rousing chorus, like on the Pulp-y title track, or the massive stomping piano pop gem "People Have a Way", capable of forcing even the Polyphonic Spree's cathedral-sized reverb back into the narthex. Also, MPPA's remained fairly insulated from success, meaning there's no army of fans that'd feel betrayed if the band branched out and tried something experimental for a change. Still, the band's had innumerable chances to take these intrepid steps, and with yet another standardized LP of glorified Dave Matthews tunes, that glimmer of hope's fading fast.
