The Theater Fire can't win. Forming in 1995 as Vena Cava, the band eventually changed its name upon discovering another group using that same aortic moniker. Their new identity as the Theater Fire worked pretty well until a certain Canadian group came along. This time, though, they stuck to their guns, secure in the knowledge that despite the shared Fire, there's not much musical overlap between them and the Neon Bible thumpers. Instead of anthemic, extroverted indie, the Theater Fire make more subdued orchestral folk-rock that has more in common with Calexico and Will Oldham than with U2 or Springsteen.
Maybe it's just because they're Texans, but something about the band's third album, Matter and Light, seems to view introversion as a form of secession. Perhaps because they've been forced to circle the wagons and rechristen themselves, they've cultivated a strong separatist streak in their music: With their clever orchestrations and cleverer lyrics (best: "I'm not bitter but I hope she dies"), they inhabit their little corner of the Lone Star state, and while you're invited to listen in, they're not asking twice or saving you a seat.
As a result, you get some indulgent songs that seem to satisfy only the band members themselves. They include three versions of "Beatrice" when one was certainly adequate: In particular, "Beatrice (Ode)", with its laughing strings and deep vocals, is a grating, Weillian number that seems much longer than its two-and-a-half minutes. On the other hand, you also get "The Testicle Song", which ought to be insufferable given that it sounds like Oldham doing voice work for "Robot Chicken". Delivered in a detached vocal over a drowsy arrangement, the lyrics spin a dick joke into what could be a mission statement: "One is for shame, one is for glory, give 'em a name, make up a story." More to the point, like Oldham with his interiorized folk and Seth Green with his deep pop culture arcana, the Theater Fire figure you either get it or you don't and quickly move on.
Matter and Light, however, is far from inaccessible. The Fire have a knack for curious, slightly off arrangements that reveal their layers through repeated listens. Horns take their separate corners and come out fighting on "Dahl Parts", and "Coyote" grafts mournful horns to a candied riff that lands just this side of annoying. Their cover of Elliott Smith's "Say Yes" says yes to music box bells, plunking banjo, mariachi horns, and singing saw, but says no to lyrics. All they care about is Smith's mournful up-and-down melody, which makes a lovely album intermission. "Uncle Wayne" marries a skipping rhythm to Don Feagin's Smoggy vocals, lyrics about particularly gruesome car-crash fatalities, and trumpets playing one of the wryest fanfares ever. (It should be noted that the video features actress Angela Bettis of May fame, which means it is one of the best videos ever made). That fanfare only echoes Feagin's performance, which gravitates toward unannounced punchlines and constant self-deprecation. "I'd like to help stop the war, but I just stayed home and watched it on TV," he sings on "Swashbuckler Blues". "I'd like to rob from the rich and give to the poor, but I'm too lazy." They may be territorial, but the Theater Fire are more engaged with the world than even they realize.
