If you were Bob Pollard, would you trust Tobin Sprout? Disregard, for a moment, the man's cutesy elfin name and the fact that, together, you've recorded a sizable portion of indie rock's canon with Sprout playing the trusty sideman, contributing a few songs to each album to push it towards the obligatory 20-track standard. Also take into account that when Guided by Voices went hi-fi, Sprout was left behind. Granted, Sprout left of his own accord, pursuing a more sedate artistic life away from your band's hectic touring schedule. But, even as he continued to release fine solo material, his circle of fame shrunk to a diehard core of GBVers while yours inched out into the public eye. Really, would you still trust him?
Apparently, Tobin Sprout's not one to hold a grudge, despite the fact that Airport 5 would be the perfect place to air one. With Sprout recording all of album's instrumental tracks in Northport, Michigan (about 450 miles away from the Dayton hidey-hole where Pollard recorded the vocals), he finally had his chance to either upstage the man who'd been both John and Paul to his George by laying down flashy arrangements, or to sabotage him with flimsy backing. And since Pollard's too busy making albums to make albums, Sprout probably could've slipped it under the notoriously lax Pollard Quality Control Radar. But he didn't. And for a record created with such a vast distance between its creators, Tower in the Fountain of Sparks sounds remarkably cozy.
Sprout seems especially careful not to step on Pollard's toes here, plugging away on most of the tracks with dour, persistent strumming and a few unadorned rock beats. Still, he's not afraid to add some sparkle, stitching jangly leads into this burlap canvas. Sprout's slide guitar, a new addition since his GBV days, spills across "Subatomic Rain" and "Up the Nails" in slow, mournful rivulets, and his fluid, bouncy basswork on "Total Exposure" even out-meanders Pollard's melodic lines. And yes, he's finally discovered that four-tracks record backwards as well as forwards. "The Cost of Shipping Cattle" begins in a cacophony of reversed guitars, then sorts itself out into a gorgeous, softly swelling tune.
Considering the arena-rock aspirations Pollard has developed since his days in the old GBV, it's oddly appropriate that he almost sounds like an arena-rocker trying to go lo-fi here. This means that some of the songs' quirks-- like the drunken shout-alongs in the otherwise pristine pop beauty of "Circle of Trim"-- sound a bit artificial. And along with its familiar veneer of reverb and British affectations, Pollard's croon seems even more over-the-top than ever in places, adding embellishments to the some of the nigh-infinitely repeated choruses and breaking into falsetto ta-ta-ta's on "Feathering Clueless."
But those are just the parts of the whole. Even when separated by interstate commerce laws and the icy depths of Lake Michigan, Pollard and Sprout have the ability to sound like a band. A real band. In the space of this mostly noise-free record, Pollard and Sprout form their own feedback loop: Pollard's singing gives lift to Sprout's gently melancholy music, while Sprout gives weight to Pollard's abstracted exuberance. This, combined with Pollard's recent discovery that it occasionally makes sense to make sense (if only just in the choruses) gives Tower in the Fountain of Sparks a sort of emotional weight rare for a GBV-related project. As Sprout's acoustic guitars hum like a darkening summer night behind "Total Exposure," Pollard couches his simplest, most comfortingly pedestrian imagery ever in a perfect melodic lilt: "Listen to the way the children play/ As the day slips away/ And the light comes on."
Though the hard-rocking "One More" and the elliptical "Mission Experiences" can be chalked up as the inevitable slight missteps, the album hits its stride halfway through. "Stifled Man Casino" channels its frustration ("You can feel all the dust in your window/ You can feel all the lust in your mind/ But you can't have what you want") into upbeat, playful pop, while "Up the Nails" turns the same sentiment ("How can you believe/ That patience brings reward?") into slow-burning sadness. "Tomorrow You May Rise" sounds like one of GBV's random fragments turned strangely complete, thanks only to Sprout's well-placed synthesizer and another moment of lyrical lucidity ("Stand up crying, don't bend/ You are not lost in the present/ Tomorrow you may rise"). Elsewhere, "Feathering Clueless" provides more simple, slightly sad pop, and Sprout's slow, stately instrumentation on "Mansfield in the Sky" is almost impossibly gorgeous.
Towards the record's end, the haunting solo Sprout track, "White Car Creek," bleeds gracefully into the closer, "Remain Lodging (At Airport 5)". Buoyed by effervescent treated pianos, Pollard preaches acceptance and stability, with a smirking allusion to relationship trouble ("It's hard to be a bird in a flying house/ It's how to be a drone/ In a hive of women") that puts a warm spin on the album's melancholy bent. It's indicative of how, even though they were just starting to make it big in music when their peers were making their final mortgage payments, Pollard and Sprout are still maturing. As if they could do something like this every day; wake up in the morning, grab a lunchbox, go their separate ways, and at the end of the day, climb back into the welcoming, familiar embrace of their four-tracks, where all will be right with the world.
