On university campuses across America, a decades-long battle has been waged between the two major archetypes of collegiate music fan: the hippie and the hipster. Meeting in empty parking lots late at night by secretive arrangements, the warring clans circle each other warily, threateningly snapping their fingers. Suddenly, the hippies unleash a deafening volley of drum circle concussion, with accompaniment from that scruffy dude that plays one of those handless harmonicas. Unfazed, the hipsters form a tight formation and frantically mimeograph an acerbic zine, filled with fanged mockery of trust-fund hemp activists.
Living in the war zone between these two vicious gangs is no easy job, akin to the complicated reconcilement acrobatics of a Log Cabin Republican. But somehow Gomez have pulled it off over the course of their four-album career, blending a distinctly granola throwback sound with indie's willingness to sonically experiment. The British group has yet to hit the jackpot on American shores but it seems the time for their mongrel sound may have finally come: The second day of this year's Lollapalooza features the likes of The Flaming Lips and The String Cheese Incident (and, appropriately, Gomez themselves).
'Tis a shame, then, that Gomez's trajectory toward the weird-- as traced from 1998's Bring It On to 2002's In Our Gun by an increasing employment of electronic bells and whistles-- takes a severe backslide on Split the Difference. Always one of the most American-sounding British bands, this latest album finds Gomez retreating to trad territory, filling out its 13 tracks with a healthy spoonful of sunshine daydream Ribfest ditties. Save a few tantalizing moments of sonic trickery, Split the Difference would sound safe at home amidst your local cryogenic classic rock station, a fact tipped off by a centerpiece entitled "Sweet Virginia".
Surprisingly, that song isn't a Stones pastiche. Instead, it's a sunburn-woozy track fleetingly enveloped by a haze of strings. With "Sweet Virginia" and the unstable-balance-dial theatrics of "We Don't Know Where We're Going", Gomez hide their most dense, rewarding material in the core of the album, surrounding the tracks with accomplished but straightforward rock. Most of the blame for that rote sound can be placed on the nicotine-meets-Vedder vocals of Ben Ottewell, who surrounds many of his growling performances in "Where Ya Going?" and "Me, You and Everybody" with tired distorted-bass riffing. Bandmate Ian Ball is a less compelling vocalist, but most of his songs ("These 3 Sins", "Nothing Is Wrong") succeed as anthemic and catchy yet simple arena rock.
So Split the Difference is an opportunity missed, with Gomez settling into a safe, well-worn ocean colour scene at a time when an adventurous indie/jamband hybrid might've clicked with Lollapaloozers. In the kind of irony us hack reviewers love, Split the Difference does anything but, as the band merely courts and comforts the Phish mourners rather than mediating a college campus version of the Camp David Accords.
