"Southern Decline", a fuzzy power-pop tune about using booze as a means to escape life's problems (and about learning that trick from our fathers), kicks off The Year of Magical Drinking, the debut album from Apex Manor, former Broken West frontman Ross Flournoy's first project following the dissolution of that group in 2009. Given the album's tastelessly terrific title (and I say that as a huge Joan Didion fan) and the subject matter of its opening cut, I was all geared up for a full-fledged diary of inebriation. Sadly, the record's handle turns out to be essentially a throwaway joke.
That doesn't mean Flournoy doesn't have plenty of other depressants at his disposal. There's lots of love and sex gone bad on the album, as well as seeming allusions to abused substances that don't come in a bottle. Flournoy largely balances out these bum trips with basically the same brand of melodically driving pop-rock he proffered with the Broken West. Unsurprisingly, he frequently evokes other artists with a rich history of blending buoyant rhythms with deflated or heartsick lyrics-- witness the early-Wilco moves on the insistent rocker "Under the Gun" or the R.E.M.-ish bassline on the chimingly wistful "I Know These Waters Well". That said, Flournoy's bread-and-butter style can start to feel pretty anonymous after a while, as evidenced by the boilerplate likes of "The Party Line", "Teenage Blood", and "Elemental Ways of Speaking", and it certainly doesn't help that the words to those songs are equally undistinguished, full of vague impressions and empty jargon.
To his credit, Flournoy breaks up the facile pop-rock monotony a few times, with encouraging results. "My My Mind" and "Burn Me Alive" both exhibit a cool, atmospheric sway that proves to be a good look for Flournoy (the latter even finding him unpacking an admirable falsetto), while "Holy Roller" displays just the right light touch of country and gospel. The closing "Coming To" stands out from the pack as well thanks to a little cowbell and guitar ruckus, and also features the album's best line, with Flournoy stringing together the set-up of the song's title with the punchline, "a bed near you." The irreverence suits him well; maybe Flournoy should consider a year of magical winking.
