So much talk around Robert Pollard is shop-talk; who's in which band now, what's our fidelity level, can this one hang with Mag Earwhig!, that sort of thing. Pollard doesn't so much have fans as obsessives, and-- coupled with his beyond-prolific release schedule and seemingly willful inconsistency-- at this point it can almost seem like you're either in or you're out. But every nut out there divebombing their credit scores to chase the Fading Captain through his many diversions got hooked the same way: on the strength of one perfectly weird, immediately ingratiating pop tune after another. And neophyte and fanatic both will find much to like about the sharp, spirited Our Cubehouse Still Rocks, the fourth LP from the Boston Spaceships. Though still strange and singular enough to only be Pollard, the warm, exuberant songs that comprise Cubehouse don't take a master's in Pollardiana to dig into.
Though it lifts its title from James Joyce's improbably dense Finnegans Wake, Cubehouse is a decidedly straightforward affair, a bright, rollicking blast of nearly fat-free power-pop with a few more nods than usual to Pollard faves Cheap Trick. Like the Spaceships records before it, Cubehouse keeps the tempos up and the spirits high; Uncle Bob's in a good mood. Decemberists drummer John Moen and multi-instrumentalist Chris Slusarenko are, as ever, an extremely complimentary musical unit for Pollard's songs, tight and tuned-in but unafraid of a little dazzle. And here on Cubehouse, their warm, worn-in arrangements serve as ideal foils for Pollard's most genial, generous collection in years.
Cubehouse kicks off with "Track Star", which finds Pollard devising new and exciting ways to sing, "I'll bet he runs," over a splashy little rumbler. From there, Cubehouse teeters between surefooted riff-rockers and quietly triumphant power balladry and the occasional chiming R.E.M.-derived lope, bashed out enthusiastically without a lot of monkeying around. There's little of the proggy convolution or slow, sickly sweet numbers that can drag a Pollard album down, just a briskly paced collection of hooky, undemanding rockers with nary a bad song in the bunch; a rare thing indeed for a Pollard project.
Expertly paced, Cubehouse's highlights are judiciously spread out, its occasional down note always quickly offset by something more boisterous. It's the Spaceships' most consistent listen; with no lows to speak of, it's easy to see this becoming the go-to for fans. The highs here aren't quite as high as those on The Planets Are Blasted, but they are still well in range of some of Pollard's best stuff; the starting gun of "Track Star", the deliberate stagger of "I See You Coming", the towering yell-along "Come on Baby Grace", the magisterial room-spinning "In the Bathroom (Up 1/2 the Night)". On each-- and throughout Cubehouse, really-- Pollard sounds like he's having a blast affixing all these good-time melodies together; you'd swear you can hear the smile spread across on his face as he's asking the titular Baby Grace not to punch him in it.
