Before David Lowery was known as a leading crusader for musicians' rights against the evils of thieving NPR interns, and/or the frontman of fairly popular 90s alt-rock band Cracker, he was the most famous member of semi-famous, 80s indie band Camper Van Beethoven. It's important to point out, because it sometimes seems like the world has forgotten as much. CVB has managed the dubious trick of being influential without being imitated-- they helped to invent the since outmoded term "college rock," paving the way for much of the music covered by this very website. They're a part of history, but haven't transcended it. Any credible document of American underground rock music must list Camper Van Beethoven in the index, but good luck finding a contemporary band that will namedrop them in interviews.
Since reuniting in 1999 after a nine-year hiatus, Camper Van Beethoven has carved out a decent niche playing live shows for diehards, often touring in tandem with Cracker, whose membership has included Lowery's cohorts in CVB off and on again over the years. The demand for new CVB material outside of that small cult isn't exactly raging, particularly after 2004's decently received New Roman Times. Camper Van Beethoven has not been sought out by a new audience, aside from a curious student or two at the University of Georgia inspired to check out their instructor's discography. And the negative view on La Costa Perdida, the band's first release in eight years, is that it's not a terribly necessary record.
It isn't an ideal starting point for neophytes, anyway. Perdida is more approachable than New Roman Times-- which was a heady concept record about post-9/11 America, far-right militias, Fundamentalist Christian sects, and other assorted detritus floating in the yoke of political extremism-- tying together CVB's zany, chopped-genre sundaes with a thread of sunbaked Northern Californian pleasantries. Hearing these guys play together, presumably huddled in tight and facing a window with a killer view of the ocean, is pretty delightful for much of La Costa Perdida. But the songs themselves aren't all that memorable. The gorgeous country rock of the album-opening "Come Down The Coast" comes closest to sticking, even if it veers furthest from the CVB template and toward a full-on homage to *Kerosene Hat-*era Cracker. Please, if you have any desire to learn about this group, head straight to 1989's Key Lime Pie and only revisit La Costa Perdida once you've exhausted the rest of the catalog.
If you happen to already love this band, La Costa Perdida warrants a more positive assessment. Maybe contemporary indie-rock isn't flooded with CVB sound-alikes because this happens to be a very difficult band to rip off. Jonathan Segel's vertigo-inducing violin swirls on the fractured English folk of "Someday Our Love Will Sell Us Out" could only exist on a CVB record; ditto that for "Peaches in the Summertime", a ska-punk-bluegrass ditty that processes its grossly disparate sounds with a straight face and casual flick of the wrist. "Too High for the Love-In" shoots Lowery's snarky lyrics through an airy sunshine pop melody that turns sinister during an unexpected acid-rock coda, when Lowery infuses the "make me a sandwich" mantra with bizarre malevolence.
Even if La Costa Perdida isn't a great Camper Van Beethoven record, it does illustrate how unique this band still is, 30 years after it formed. And it truly is a kick to hear CVB ply its craft with road-tested assurance and subtly virtuosic musicianship. The bluesy vamp "You Got to Roll" doesn't totally work on record, but it should sound great in a concert setting, where the proggy accents of "Summer Days" and the "Euro-Trash Girl"-like epic "Northern California Girls" will also likely catch fire. In lieu of having great material, at least Camper Van Beethoven can count on being itself better than anybody else.
