After the politically radical (but economically capitalist) art-screamo troupe At the Drive-In disbanded in 2001, three of its members-- Jim Ward, Paul Hinojos and Tony Hajjar-- apparently still had some seething rhetoric to spew. So they recruited Belknap bassist Matt Miller and formed Sparta, a band whose anxious, epic guitar rock maintains ATDI's twitchy prog-punk aesthetic while standardizing some of that group's more esoteric algorithms for mass consumption and heightened accessibility-- Byzantine art-punk cathedrals with wheelchair ramps.
Sparta continue to tread the thin line between "authentic" punk (compared to most of what passes for punk on the radio, Sparta absolutely rages) and "commercial" punk (they're on a major label, receive limited MTV exposure, and tour with Incubus) that drives a certain stripe of staunch, conflicted indie purist mad. Sparta's sophomore LP, Porcelain, doesn't extend the sound of the band's debut so much as inflate it. Porcelain is grandiose and questing, with scintillating, spacious atmospheres and rangy, confident songs that sometimes break the six-minute barrier. It's ziggurat-rock, decadent and Babylonian. But while the band's music has intensified since 2002's Wiretap Scars, the lyrics have retracted into frugal, open forms. These verbal Rorschach blots forgo literal substance in favor of pithy evocation-- they could be about girls or capitalism or hating school, depending on your interpretation and/or psychological needs.
Sparta believes that more is more, but their colossal sound is sleek and streamlined, never sludgy. Rock comes in all shapes and sizes; Sparta's is equivalent to a boulder flung from a catapult-- monolithic and daunting, yet swift and aerodynamic. Porcelain opens with "Guns of Memorial Park", an S.O.S. tapped out in Morse code echoing urgent, cyclical guitar and alternating, fuzzed-out bass tones. The drums lock as if they're literally beating back a standard-bearing army of vocals and guitars that threaten to breach the castle keep. The shout-along chorus and hectic swarm of "Hiss the Villain" evoke classic Hüsker Dü with a heavy coat of varnish.
"While Oceana Sleeps" is a standout. With its tinkling harmonics, melodic bass, detonating chorus and plaintive vocal performance, it recalls (not for the only time on this record) the arctic sonic waters sailed by The Appleseed Cast. "Lines in Sand" is made exceptionally lovely by the chaos around it: It's a richly detailed, burbling soundscape that cascades in waves of quietude and release-- a nerve-soothing Coldplay moment amid the edgier histrionics.
There's one sticking point I've yet to address: Is Sparta emo? At the Drive-In was often labeled as such, but any genre that lays claim to both Pedro the Lion and At the Drive-In obviously has some semantic kinks to work out. "Emo," as a genre signifier, should apply to the stripe of music that can make a 12-part harmony sound thin and reedy, with shopworn hardcore progressions arpeggiated into anonymity, and lyrics that prey on the malleable emotions of teenagers (pacesetter: New Found Glory). Sparta, on the other hand, sound positively huge: The arrangements are complex and inventive, and the lyrics are too oblique to wind up in anyone's slam book.
Besides, most music transmits some sort of emotion (like, is Ghostface Killah emo?), and if the term that designates any emotional music has taken on negative connotations, as "emo" has to some, then one gets the squirmy feeling that we truly have entered the much-ballyhooed "post-human age." That, of course, is mere food for thought; Porcelain is food for sheer bodily exaltation. It's an imperative and ornate exhortation to lay open your nerves and unabashedly, unapologetically feel.
