There's nothing more American than marijuana and masturbation, and when you combine the two, well, that's Zen. Don't let the hippies fool you, there's nothing communal about pot. It's all about that high, and the only reason you want people around when you get high is so they can witness how good pot makes you feel. They're there so they can enjoy you, not enjoy pot with you. Masturbation is that joint you save for yourself and smoke when everyone has gone home.
The beauty of Sebadoh is that they not only understand how selfish weed and wacking off are, but, to quote Malcom X, they "talk right down to earth in a language that everybody here can easily understand." There's no false conception that you're getting one band when you buy a Sebadoh CD-- you're getting a bunch of songs that sound like the person who wrote them. Sebadoh isn't a band as much as it's a means to an end.
For the most part, the ends have been worth the means. Lou Barlow's always depressed, Jason Loewenstein's always pissed and Eric Gaffney always sounded like he took a wrong turn and ended up in Sebadoh's studio instead of GWAR's. That's part of the fun. If your girlfriend just shit on your heart, Lou was there to empathize. If you felt like letting off some steam, Jason was your man. If the crank was taking a minute to kick in, Eric could kickstart it.
Then came Harmacy, by which time Eric was long gone and Lou and Jason, along with Bob Fay, decided they were a band. They weren't yet. The overproduction and cohesiveness was a wimpy kick in the nuts. No high, no climax, no thank you.
The curious thing about The Sebadoh is that it is, in fact, The Sebadoh. You get the multiple personalities and the whole unit. "Bird in the Hand" is Jason Loewenstein at full tilt, screaming like an unwelcome orgasm and clanging out arrhythmic chords. "Break Free," new drummer Russ Pollard's only song credit, sends out signals of longing without being overdrawn. "Love is Strong" is so distant and depressing that it could only have been written by Lou Barlow. Behind the personalities, though, all the songs are coming from the same place.
Some people won't take to the cohesiveness, and the added production won't make them any happier. Change scares people, especially people accustomed to the stasis of weed. The warm organ and warped guitar on "Tree" may as well be aliens bursting out of the stomachs of musicians who made an entire album as bedroomy as Weed Forestin, but the rest of the track is as soothingly analog as any Nick Drake sobber. Likewise, the sci-fi noodlings and tambourine of "It's All You" sound polished, but retain that special Sebadoh quality.
For Sebadoh, it's been a while since giving the pleasure of the two M's meant blatantly singing about them, but after a dismal attempt at coming together, Sebadoh seems to have made an album that's both communal and self- gratifying. Fuckin' hippies.
