Change is something fans of D.C.'s The Dismemberment Plan have grown accustomed to over the years, as the band has proven to make vast leaps in maturity with each album. Somewhere between the release of their clumsy 1995 debut, "!", and 1997's more balanced but no less raucous Is Terrified!, the band discovered the advantages of rock balladry and pensive lyrics. With 1999's Emergency & I, they hit their stride, recording a landmark underground classic which rocketed them-- almost overnight-- into the stratosphere of indie rock's elite. But when The Dismemberment Plan decided to title their new album Change, they weren't fucking around.
After the primal energy and speak/singalong teenage anthems of Emergency & I, Change comes as a bit of a jolt. No longer intent on inciting dancefloor riots through funk-laden post-punk explosions, the new Dismemberment Plan is more reflective, more sentimental, and, perhaps shockingly, confidently collected. Whereas their last album cruised through 12 tracks with a pummeling frenzy that sent audiences into fits of unrestrained revelry, the band rarely kicks into overdrive on Change, instead pondering their place in the world and the prosaic nature of day-to-day life. That's right: they've settled down.
There are few things more detested in youth than the inevitable mellowing that comes with age, so should the band be derided for gracefully succumbing to adulthood or applauded for refusing to grow stagnant? Obviously, it depends on the final product. And Change, while unquestionably more mature than anything The Dismemberment Plan have released in the past, is also, at times, an incredibly powerful record that can make mundane ruminations seem like Socratic philosophy.
Of all indie rock's leading voices, few have a way with words like Plan frontman Travis Morrison. His hypnotic musings on everything from lonely New Year's celebrations in unfamiliar cities to nuclear decimation have always been an integral element of the band's sound and success. On Emergency & I, his lyrics blended with the electric onslaught to create visceral moments of uplift and sonic bliss. On Change, however, they've become the primary focus of the songs, with the band trading in raging vigor for polite, polyrhythmic grooves.
The subjects of these songs lack some of the creativity of past works-- there are no memory machines to wash away the grief, no supernatural invitations from anyone to do anything-- but Morrison's uncanny ability to capture a moment in photographic detail has developed into poetic mastery. On one of the album's highlights, the stripped-bare "Automatic", he moans, "I could see you through the dirty waves/ Smiling like a vampire as you disappeared beneath the whitecaps.../ I could feel my toes curl through the yellow sand/ As I watched you slip away." On the bizarre "Face of the Earth", in which he contemplates the expression of a girlfriend just before she's unexpectedly and permanently sucked into the sky, he sings, "I freeze the look of pre-alert and study it still/ Her smile starts to loosen/ Her pupils yawn wide." And then there's the highly quotable line from what is far and away the album's clear standout, "Time Bomb": "I am a time bomb/ And I only live in that one moment in which you die."
Though devoid of the urgency the band built their name on, Change is the most musically cohesive of The Dismemberment Plan's records to date. The album kicks off with "Sentimental Man", which bridges the gap between the Talking Heads' Remain in Light and Joni Mitchell's Court and Spark with drummer Joe Easley and bassist Eric Axelson forming a busy, aquatic undercurrent for the quiescent, drugged guitar and droning keyboard. The song flows seamlessly into "Face of the Earth", whose temperament is similarly mild-mannered until it opens up with blaring, Jawbox-esque guitar jangle.
"Superpowers" is the first of the album's truly great tracks, documenting events witnessed through extra-sensory perception ("I've been cornered by the screams of a body as it freed itself of its mind"). "Pay for the Piano" harkens back to The Dismemberment Plan of old with surging guitars and that trademark wired dynamism that pulsed through the band's best songs. "Come Home" follows with what is-- next to the excellent "Automatic"-- Change's quietest track. Unfortunately, where "Automatic" contains some of the album's best lyrics, "Come Home" is too self-pitying, and its lack of any melodic hook gets tired long before it stretches past the five-minute mark.
The intensely rhythmic "Secret Curse" ushers in a welcome high point, though. The song embodies the fragile tenseness of anxiety as Morrison spits out words at a rate even record-holding typists couldn't transcribe ("Anonymous hex on flavorless food and terrible sex a day of no rhythm a night of no rest"). The lyrical misgivings of "Following Through" (most notably, the spine-shivering "it could have been off the hook, now") are redeemed by chiming guitar, heartbeat percussion, and a beautifully harmonized chorus.
But Change closes on a less intriguing note with two songs: the jungle-flavored "The Other Side" and the story of "Ellen and Ben". Both songs pass with only minor complaints: the former, while one of the most musically creative songs in the band's catalog, suffers lyrically from a lack of any real point; the latter details the rise and fall of a romantic relationship through the eyes of a gossiping outsider. But even while these tracks are decent enough, they lack both the kinetic energy of the band's earlier material, and the engaging lyrical insight that dominates the rest of the record.
So, yes. The Dismemberment Plan we once knew and loved has indeed changed, and like any change, it takes some getting used to. Initially, the tribal percussion and sometimes maudlin tone may not sit well. You might notice small imperfections, such as the mix, which seems slightly muddier this time out, or Morrison's emotive "yeah's" which can occasionally be a little abrasive. But with repeated listens, its positive traits-- like Easley's unbelievably creative drumming, Axelson's volatile basslines, and the richly textured keyboards-- begin to pile up, eventually outweighing its negatives tenfold.
Sure, it's hard to shake that nagging feeling that it's too early in The Dismemberment Plan's career for this kind of shift, that they had so much more to explore in their endearingly spazzy rock vein. But metamorphosis can be a beautiful thing, and like the butterfly retains a part of the caterpillar, Change retains a part of the pre-mutated Dismemberment Plan. You see, they're still the same band they always were. They're just prettier now.
