Once upon a time, Dan Fanelli, Aaron Cleall, and Ken Wallin, three industrious lads from the suburbs of Chicago, set forth to establish a bold new civilization in the mythical Land of the El Caminos. In the Land of the El Caminos, anything is possible, provided believers accept the following tenets of the El Camino gospel:
Unquestioning acceptance of these four precepts guarantees listeners everlasting happiness in the Land of the El Caminos. Little hard to swallow? You're not alone.
Despite their website's claims to the contrary, it's hard for me to conceive of Land of the El Caminos really getting off the ground in any context outside of a sports bar on a weekday night, where patrons are already so soused and heavily involved in watching The Game that the band's unfortunate sound fades into background noise. And perhaps Land of the El Caminos is aware of this. Maybe the title of their third album, Subourbon, pays homage to their barroom enthusiasts-- though to be perfectly honest, it seems that Land of the El Caminos fans would more likely be drinkers of Budweiser than Jim Beam. But why quibble?
Well, because their sound quibbles with itself. In some sense, it's generic enough. Subourbon's first track, "Slouching in My Spine," sounds a lot like Face to Face circa 1995, or some such power chord/machismo-heavy pop/punk. Except the verses are punctuated with these completely extraneous, wacked-out metal guitar solos, and the vocals are delivered by a mostly tone-deaf Eric Bachman impressionist whose overt adoration of the late Archers of Loaf is suggested even in the song's title. Now add some goofy production quality-- of the sparkling clean variety-- that does nothing so much as illustrate how awkward and distasteful this combination actually is. Presto! Subourbon.
That being said, "Slouching in my Spine" is one of the album's best tracks. Namely because it doesn't involve clumsily handled keyboards-- like "We Never Learned How" which sounds a lot like "Slouching in My Spine," except more like Archers of Loaf with a little Weezer thrown in for good measure-- or intense lyrical discomfort.
But in the spirit of giving credit where credit is due, the lyrics to eight of the album's eleven songs are penned by Lara Fanelli (wife? sister of Dan?), who is not in the band. Her lyrics, though boring, are not bad. But when Dan goes it alone, the results are questionable at best. Consider the case of "Heaven." The song is preceded by the recitation of a haiku (I'm not kidding), and opens with the following: "Heaven is where you spray everyone in the face with your love/ I'm never gonna see your face again/ And how could you sleep with that motherfucker?"
Clearly, in the gospel of the El Camino, the afterlife is envisioned in a wholly original light. Fanelli further elucidates on "Rock Star Dream," a fairly straightforward Blink 182-ish ditty concerning "a heaven so full of all that's beautiful," including "guitar rock angels both big and small."
About the only thing I can say for Land of the El Caminos is that they're consistent in their odd hodgepodge of influences. Without the added effect of instrument and lyrical misfortune, the songs settle into a forgettable haze of mid-90s nostalgia and those old MTV buzz bin bands that sold CDs on the basis of one boring song and a colorful video. Does anyone remember Wax? I'm betting Land of the El Caminos hopes you do.
Yet, there's something so sadly likeable about these guys. They're hard working, sincere, committed. They've put out three records on their own label, and you can imagine the high fives as they drive off to the next show. All the onstage banter about "doing it for the kids," a complete lack of pretension mediated by their inability to even feign pretension, the good intentions...
Perhaps one day the Land of the El Caminos will find their ideal audience. Some small segment of the population so amped up on pop/punk and Archers of Loaf. They'll fondly coalesce under the Land of the El Camino banner, following their heroes from barroom to barroom. And every night the band will pause for a moment of bliss, seeing heaven as their fans spray their faces with love. Bless their hearts.
