Eric Axelson and Joe Easley, the former bassist and drummer of Washington D.C.'s the Dismemberment Plan, should be treated as a natural resource. While I'm sure they have their own ambitions (and lives), they should still be hired out in an act of musical socialism, or be hired guns for some label like the Memphis Horns, pushing the music of their peers forward with their fluid and distinctive patter, mined from Motown and forged in D.C. Take Statehood's "End the Moderation": verses where manic drumming barely leave room for the morse-code rhythm of the chicken-scratch guitars, bookended by huge, dramatic strums, before they lay back and breathe for a dreamy, but driving chorus, and finally collapse in a pile at the end of each refrain. It's a relay-race performance for all involved, but even the sharpest songwriter on their own couldn't make these transitions without sounding ostentatious about it or tripping over their feet. With Axelson and Easley, it's another day on the job. Musicians sound better when these two are behind them.
But despite the presence of the two of them and guitarist Leigh Thompson, Statehood's 2007 debut is pretty much a vehicle for singer and guitarist Clark Sabine. Lies and Rhetoric is a record that still has one foot in the bedroom, and the other in the melodic, but twisted D.C. post-hardcore that plenty of listeners will never tire of. "A Story's End" and "Giants" start the record off with nervous energy and distinctive melodies, but don't quite transcend the anxious pulse of the post-punk we've heard much of before. The guitars grind out tense progressions in syncopated bursts while Sabine flips between his nervous croon and choked, emotive yelp (not too far from another area luminary, J. Robbins). The rhythm section asserts themselves more in the steady sidestep of "Save Yourself", but more than that, its chorus is a surprise dreamy cool-down with just a bit of minimal, textural guitar, like falling rain on a rooftop, courtesy of Thompson. Sabine's lyrics are unfortunately broad here ("The house we built has crumbled"), but it's a moment where the four of them congeal into a passage that's creative and surprising.
The aforementioned rhythm section add ghostly percussion to "Every Single Question", making Sabine's distorted vocal all the more ominous, and a sleek mechanical thump to closer "Jailer's Daughter"; you wouldn't think it from the rest of the record, but the influence of dance music is integrated in thoughtful, unobtrusive ways that always serve the song. Thompson acquits himself well on the sparkling textures of "Hidden Views" and even some talkbox-like effects on "Transfixed". The lyrics on the latter offer vague notions of dissent without digging into themes of "lies and rhetoric" the song mentions offhand, alluding more towards interpersonal relationships in pattern with most of the record.
The interplay is seamless in "No, I Don't Think You Want to Know", which features both a familiar loping disco beat as well as a spacey, almost drum-n-bass bridge, as well as woozy, delirious guitar bends and another indelible chorus. Likewise, the deft curveball chorus of "Still Spinning" is both gorgeous and chest-beating, and it's on these tracks where Sabine shows off his New Pop side just as much as the side steeped in post-hardcore. These moments are obvious standouts, but the rest remind us of that one thing that's hard to write about because it's impossible to quantify: chemistry between musicians. It's where prior influences and new ideas go in, and come out as something entirely different; when a band is more than the sum of their parts. The Dismemberment Plan was a shining example, and all the later projects of their members have just reminded how rare that quality is. Songs like "Disconnect" were near finished (and even available on the band's myspace page) before Sabine hooked up with his current cohorts, and there's a fine singer-songwriter's record here, one that's angrier and funkier than most, and benefits from some talented and sensitive accompanists. But what I'm really looking forward to is future releases where Statehood might start to sound like more of a full band.
