In a musical economy where ideas are the sole currency, Simon Bookish would be doing the Scrooge McDuck backstroke through a pool of cartoon coins right about now. The man's recordings abound in little innovations, both sonic and lyrical, and if Everything/Everything sounds particularly heavy on them, that's no coincidence: the record, a self-described "big band song cycle," deals with the onslaught of information in this modern age.
Accordingly, the music on Everything runs the gamut, with touches of kraut/motorik ("Portrait of the Artist as a Fountain") and Gang of Four-descended post-punk ("Alsatian Dog") rubbing up against plenty of Reich/Glass modular flourishes (a good two-thirds of the tracks) and even a splash of the baroque ("Il Trionfo del Tempo...[Ridley Road]"). Much has been made of Bookish's decision to eschew the electronic instrumentation that dominated his first two albums-- 2006's aggro-electro opus Unfair/Funfair and 2007's frequently brilliant if uneven Trainwreck/Raincheck-- in favor of the more organic sounds of the pianos, saxophones, Farfisa organs, harps, and chirpy brass section that color Everything. By and large Bookish employs his new toys to good effect: the polyphony of voice, backing chorus, piano, and brass during the refrain of opening track "The Flood" sounds positively euphoric, while "Synchrotron" drops thick, excited sax over rolling piano and a bed of Stereolab-like Farfisa to emerge as one of the record's highlights.
This kitchen-sink musical approach makes sense in light of the subject matter, which, while it might not encompass everything, sure comes close. "Carbon" builds a chorus out of Albert Einstein's apparent words to Buckminster Fuller-- "Young man, you amaze me!"-- tucked between imagery of various forms of the life-giving element. "A Crack in Larsen C" uses a disintegrating ice shelf as a springboard for a moody meditation on end times ("Will the future crash in the next five minutes/ And if it does, will we be burning or frozen?"), while "Victorinox" has Bookish seemingly commenting on the Swiss policy of neutrality one moment ("Try to ignore the drum sound...the place where you live is under attack") and delighting in wordplay ("Monstrous animosity/ Rhinoceros of animus") the next. Astronomy, television culture, publishing, oceanology, particle physics, and the evolution of language come into play as well, as do such fun vocab words as "apogee," "damask," and "meniscus." If this all sounds a little overwhelming, well, that's the point.
Everything's one shortcoming is that it can occasionally feel cold and clinical, a feeling underscored by Bookish's authoritative baritone. That voice was slightly better suited to the stream-of-consciousness spoken word narratives on Trainwreck/Raincheck and the more sadomasochistic moments of Unfair/Funfair than to these avant-pop ditties. And despite Bookish's newfound penchant for pop song structures, his music still isn't nearly as accessible as that of fellow classically-trained tunesmiths Patrick Wolf and Owen Pallett/Final Fantasy-- which may explain his lower profile among fans of orchestral indie pop.
And although it's unfocused by design, Everything is still unfocused. Which is not to say it's inconsistent: a major improvement in this regard over Trainwreck-- which meandered off into ambient oblivion on its final four tracks-- Everything is markedly well assembled. Its mellower material ("Il Trionfo", "Larsen C") is deftly sequenced amid its peppier numbers, and "The Flood" and closing track "Colophon" serve as fine bookends for the whole concept. Indeed, it's the confusion and ambivalence that proceeds it that allows Bookish's final declaration on that closing track to ring loud and clear: "Not too late to rewrite history/ Not too late to save ourselves/ Not too late to pull this species above, beyond." Ultimately we're left with something not unlike the age it addresses: easily marveled at, not always so easily engaged with, and yet with much to offer to those willing to make the effort.
