In a classic case of chicken vs. egg, it's easy to assume that the Brendan Benson-fronted band Mood Elevator is little more than an emancipated version of Benson's backing band, the Well-Fed Boys. This is more than just another subtle experiment in power shifts, though-- the three-year old band is the product of Benson and songwriter Chris Plum's long-standing high school friendship, a rapport reignited in Detroit in 2000, on the heels of Benson's trying One Mississippi sessions.
With his own brand new home studio, built on Virgin Records advance dollars, Benson offered to record and produce a handful of Plum's songs; from this, Mood Elevator (with bassist Eric Potts, drummer Matt Aljian, and guitarist Zach Shipp) was born. A few short months later, the group's debut LP, Listen Up!, was released. (Perpetuating pesky Detroit in-breeding, Shipp has since bowed out of Mood Elevator to become Electric Six bandmember "The Colonel.") When Benson was asked to select a backing band to accompany him on his Lapalco tour last year, Mood Elevator was his obvious choice, and the group took on a new name, performing behind Benson as the Well-Fed Boys.
With Mood Elevator proper, Benson chipped in rhythm guitar, percussion, and a few lilting vocal harmonies, but generously forked over the leading-man post to Plum, whose deep, clear coo functions kind of like a funhouse version of Benson's: a little more raucous, but still perpetually on-key and curiously adolescent. Over half of the album sees just Plum and Benson credited as players, and their balanced push/pull interplay instantly reveals the well-rooted relationship from which the project sprouted.
Mostly, Married Alive offers a slightly rowdier version of Benson's beloved pop/rock, a hybrid foot-tapper with more drum fills and distortion, but not quite as much beguiling charm. Whereas Benson's solo charisma has always been inextricably handcuffed to his genuine, sweet-faced whine, Mood Elevator's choice to skew a little rockier (read: big, Keith Moon-ish percussion and a splattering of expletives) has also cost the band its potentially appealing innocence. Still, Benson and Plum are both skilled songwriters, and each of this album's eleven tracks are carefully scribed, hook-riddled pop shouts, occasionally generic but always well-accessorized.
As its title suggests, Married Alive is also full of goofy, locker-room heartbreak, with loads of exasperating lyrics about doing dumb shit in the name of love: looking the word "baby" up in the dictionary ("It always seemed to me/ A baby is supposed to be someone/ Who really loves you") or nobly lamenting your shortcomings ("Anxious, anxious kind of guy/ I'm no longer cool/ I no longer rule"). The instrumentation follows suit: the Beach Boys-inspired summertime slinger "Long Hard Look" ties golden keyboard lines to singalong harmonies and rolling guitars, while "Something I Need" offers even more vocal frolicking, with Benson and Plum vigorously trading off sunny witticisms.
Married Alive's liner notes feature a capitalized decree laid out in big gray letters: "Love Breaks Your Heart." It's age-old pop sentiment, true but irksomely familiar, unspecific, and ultimately unaffecting. This record is a testament to Plum and Benson's obvious capacity (see any of Benson's work with the Well-Fed Boys) for melody and harmony, but in the end, its songs are about as earth-shattering as its lyrical agenda.
