The short of it: This album has all the charm of a flaccid penis protruding out from beneath a fold of flesh on a balding, middle-aged man. Its ten songs retread the same ground covered on All This Sounds Gas, but where those songs sounded like a rehash of Scott Kannberg's contribution to Pavement (which wasn't so bad), Monsoon reminds us why he contributed his own material so infrequently. Without Pavement's alchemy, Preston School of Industry lacks those inimitable aspects of amateurism, nuance and play. Where Pavement rooftop-gambled in musical crapshoots, Kannberg's solo routine plays it close to the vest, folding when the stakes get high. And this game's being played for penny candy.
Kannberg has functioned as Pavement's Jimmy Carter since their breakup in '99, crafting a legacy for the band while his role in the band itself becomes less clear. He shepherded Lance Bangs' Slow Century past Stephen Malkmus' disinterest; he's also the primary force behind a forthcoming Crooked Rain reissue. Kannberg's role as an archivist and a true friend to fans remains one of unvarnished good will, and for that we should be grateful. But this album sounds like it was recorded and released as a favor from someone at the label. Truth is, the lighter that ignited All This Sounds Gas is long out of butane.
The record begins harmlessly enough, for better or worse. "The Furnace Sun" would be right at home on Old 97's Fight Songs-- it seems that all of Kannberg's guitars are stuck on twang settings. His reaching vocal on "Walk of a Gurl" sounds like a Counting Crows outtake. "Caught in the Rain" is an innocuous pop ditty, but would've been better with a piña colada. "Line It Up" begins with the same sexy-voiced nonsense that found its way onto All This Sounds Gas, except this time it's truly nonsense instead of "we know that you like us" repeated ad nauseum. Kannberg's voice renders every song nearly indistinguishable, each one a faceless victim laid out on the slab in this musical morgue. Not even Wilco can save him on the collaborative "Get Your Crayons Out".
If All This Sounds Gas was Spiral Stairs aping George Harrison, then is Monsoon his Ocean Rain? Or does it speak volumes about his ego, like Matador's Louis XIV, "Apres moi, le deluge!" If anything, this album proves at least two old adages: "When it rains, it pours" and "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me." And I'm so easily fooled.
