Over the past week I've scrapped several quasi-amusing, only-tangentially-related-to-the-topic-at-hand anecdotes that would have served as some sort of introduction to this review. Among them: a tedious explanation about how what I'm learning in grad school about connectionism and neural networking somehow applies to Spoon's songwriting methodology (hint: it really doesn't); a comparison of Spoon to the ugly metallic monstrosities that pass for public sculpture these days; and a tired parody of VH1's "Behind the Music" ("Spoon: They had it all. And then it all came crashing down! But now they're back! Etc."). I ran out of clever metaphors to describe Spoon's music a while ago. In fact, I don't think I've ever really captured in writing what it is about Spoon that I like so much. Their music just seems to possess this attitude that's both fresh and rooted in the origins of rock 'n' roll, an anger that's at once stylish and direct, a compassionate ache that's as oblique as it is palpable. And Girls Can Tell wraps all that is great about Spoon up in a shiny new package.
It's been nearly three years since Spoon's last album, A Series of Sneaks, rocked heads and broke hearts, and even though the band was without a label for most of that time, they forged ahead with the writing and recording of Girls Can Tell anyway. They had more than enough time to get the album sounding just right, and it definitely shows in the finished product. But an open-ended recording schedule has its advantages and disadvantages: Girls Can Tell is more mature and accomplished, but at the expense of the spark of spontaneity.
Fans of Spoon's mannered sloppiness will most likely be taken aback at their new sound, one which is significantly spookier and cleaner-sounding, with more conventionally structured songs. It may be worth noting that John Croslin, who's produced most of Spoon's output to date and may be responsible for the more off-kilter ideas on previous albums, is barely present on this album. Where A Series of Sneaks was a giddy grab bag of intentional loose ends, Girls Can Tell ties those loose ends up, perhaps a bit too neatly. The irony, of course, is that this album sounds much more like a major-label release than Sneaks.
But the "maturing" of Spoon should by no means be a point of contention. No, they no longer sound like the Pixies, Gang of Four or Wire; instead, they sound like Spoon now. And initially, Girls Can Tell sort of feels like a recap of Spoon's brightest spots within their oeuvre, recast in a new light. "Believing is Art" uses the insistent eighth-note rhythm of "30 Gallon Tank"; "Lines in the Suit" recalls the stark living-room production of the "Agony of Laffitte" single; "Fitted Shirt" starts where the one-note riff of "Mountain to Sound" left off; "Anything You Want" hums with the easy melodic brilliance of "I Could See the Dude," or "Metal Detektor," or "Plastic Mylar." The one new addition to their sound is a foggy-midnight moodiness enhanced by mellotron, vibraphone and viola on tracks like "Everything Hits at Once" and "Chicago at Night"; still, this shift in sound was presaged by "Change My Life" off the recent Love Ways EP.
But any perceived straddling of the line between self-cannibalization and self-reference is rendered moot on subsequent listens; these songs not only stand strong on their own, but also complement each other in unexpected ways. The eerie tones floating throughout "Everything Hits at Once" drift into "Believing is Art," where martial rhythms, Britt Daniel's breathless stuttering, and even the jarring fuzz riffs that tear apart the chorus do nothing but build tension until it fades into nothingness. The tension is finally broken with the ringing chords that open "Me and the Bean."
"Lines in the Suit" offers the first solid indication of development within Daniel's lyrics; whereas they were once resolutely abstract and liberally peppered with odd turns of phrase, here, they point toward concrete emotions and situations. Written during the fallout from being dumped from their former label, it's the sound of Britt sitting on his couch, strumming his guitar, staring out the window and wondering, "How come I feel so washed up/ At such a tender age now?"
Daniel may regret some of the decisions he's made in life, but so does everyone else; eventually, he comes around to remembering that while being a rock musician may still be a job, it's still better than real work. Better that than the human resource clerk on her lunch break who says, "It could have been good by now/ It could have been more than a wage." "Fitted Shirt," the most recognizably Spoon-like song on the album, concerns itself with a considerably lighter subject; namely, how Britt wishes that shirts didn't always come in one-size-fits-all proportions.
Of course, there are also songs on Girls Can Tell that are just about, well, girls. And hanging out. And telling off record labels. On the heartbreakingly pretty "Anything You Want," Britt pines for the girl that he knows full well won't work out anyway; on "Take a Walk," he lashes out with a snarling, swaggering blues riff as he spits, "Now that song's been sung/ It's just the cost of what's been done/ The cost of talking a walk with you." "1020 AM" returns to the mooning about, with elegant acoustic guitar and flutelike organ imparting an almost chamber-music-like aura. "Take the Fifth" has nothing better to do than to strut down the strip on a Saturday night, handclaps and tambourine included.
Girls Can Tell slithers to a rather downbeat conclusion with "This Book is a Movie," a rather incidental instrumental number that wants to build tension as effectively as "Believing is Art," but doesn't quite get there; and "Chicago at Night," where the desolate guitar twang seems to dissolve into a cloud of smoke. It's an ending that seems to echo the uncertainty of Spoon's existence over the last few years, as if the continuation of the band is still somehow in question. While Spoon definitely shows signs of life on this album, it's also clear that their more negative experiences have changed them irrevocably. It's not necessarily a qualitatively good or bad change, it's just change.
Digging deeper into Girls Can Tell, I get the feeling that Spoon is trying to reconcile their distinctive tics with deeper traditions of rock. They've always seemed like an indie rock band with a rock 'n' roll soul, and here, they're trying to lose some of their outward quirkiness and just be a rock band. But they'll never sound like just another rock band; some of their peculiarities are so engrained in their sound that they stick out even more here: the deceptively simple-sounding drum patterns, the combinations of succinct riffs that somehow miraculously fit together just so, and of course, Britt Daniel's voice, which if were up to me would be ranked as one of the classic voices in rock. It's a great thing, hearing a band grow up without losing sight of what made them so vital in the first place; and seeing as how Girls Can Tell might not have ever seen the light of day, it makes it even better. It's worth cherishing.
