Can there exist a fate worse than mediocrity for a band that's had a taste of greatness? How about for a band that's enjoyed perhaps one of the longest runs of greatness in indie rock's brief history? Yo La Tengo formed just as indie rock-as-we-know-it was getting its wings in the mid-80s. Sure, they didn't get really great until Painful dropped in 1993, pointing to a turn away from alt-country dynamics and toward dronier organ-rock and guitar freakouts-- but they sure as shit haven't let up since, kicking out consistently remarkable full-lengths roughly every three years.
2000's And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out was the first sign that they might be running out of ideas. Though an incredibly strong record from any band that deep into a rock music career, and packed with touching breakup songs and beautiful, semi-experimental atmospheres, the across-the-map diversity the band had become known for was notably absent. Unfortunately, Summer Sun confirms suspicions, and, sadder still, marks Yo La Tengo's first album since their 1986 debut, Ride the Tiger, to lack invention altogether.
Summer Sun is pleasant, if nothing else, but that's such a loaded word for an album that clearly aspires to (and ought to be) so much more than it accomplishes. At least if the album had been completely wretched, it could have been dismissed as an unwitting experiment or some such foolishness. But it ain't, and that's the shame of it all; Summer Sun consistently reaches a height of disposability so static and homogenous that it simply must be dispersed over an hour's worth of music. This isn't the sound of one of the most prominent institutions in independent music maturing; it's more like decomposing.
It hurts to write that, but pipe the breezy, wistful blue skies of "Let's Be Still" through tinny elevator speakers, or the sound system of your local Wal-Mart, and it's nothing but indie-muzak. Call it a natural progression from And Then Nothing's moody, twilit explorations of texture and atmosphere, but progression or not, last year's instrumental The Sounds of the Sounds of Science had more creativity and dynamism in a single track than the entirety of Summer Sun, and that was a score to fucking nature documentaries-- never the most fertile ground for inspiration.
For a band that once thrived on its stunning eclecticism, as well as a masterful assimilation of moods and styles, to produce an album that's merely pretty is tragic. Though, even if it smacks of gross underachievement, there is something to be said for the competence and simplicity of a record that understands how to gracefully fade into the background. Inasmuch as none of Summer Sun's songs aim for anything more than hushed, dulcet melodies and passive meditations, most of them basically hit their targets. The same smooth, rolling bass, delicate guitar lines, and airy percussion morph almost imperceptibly from the blue skies and bright eyes of "Beach Party Tonight" to the ghostly call of the Big Star cover "Take Care" and all intermediary points. Additional instrumentation of all stripes (strings, brass, piano, and the list goes on) seems added as necessary for cosmetic purposes, and the results are rarely less than soothing, if unremarkable.
Truly memorable instances are few and far between, and often for the worse; the standout tracks on Summer Sun are primarily the beat-poetry jazz drone of "Nothing But You and Me" and the highly dubious post-fusion wankery of "Georgia vs. Yo La Tengo". It says something, I guess, about the relatively constant quality to be found here that the most notable tracks are the weaker ones, but that's kind of sad, isn't it? Who wants to remember an album for the lowlights?
If any bright spot is to be found on Summer Sun, it belongs to Georgia Hubley, whose gorgeous, dusky alto comes closer to lighting up a room than anything else on this tepid body. Her voice alone stands counter to the various missteps and cardboard cutouts, and alone brings "Today Is the Day" and "Take Care" closest to genuinely intimate, affecting glimpses in the midst of tunes that are all too willing to remain at arm's length. In particular, "Take Care", as the finale to Summer Sun, steeps the preceding hour of beatific, automatic smiles in a beautiful melancholy, like a knowing and regretful farewell. I hope that's not the case, but if this is truly the next step in Yo La Tengo's move toward some abstract concept like artistic maturity, I don't think I want to stick around for the conclusion.
