Pop music takes a lot of shit from the uninformed; for whatever reason, it's a perpetually misunderstood venture. Last week, the New Yorker opted to define the genre as a "sweet, beguiling, never-too-challenging sound which has been a record industry staple from Bing Crosby to Doris Day to Britney Spears." While it's smart to classify pop in terms that stretch beyond cleared capital and chart placement, doesn't it also seem myopic to handcuff pop to dopey facility? It might be bully-fun to call pop naive, but most good pop songs are complex enough to turn banal, everyday suffering into something far more palatable: properly conjured, a pop song is more than capable of translating gnarled, sloppy passions into big, swelling choruses and sticky hooks, making the otherwise intangible pings of being stupid and human not only real, but shiny and pleasant, too. Behind every successful pop song there's a solid reason to sob; that it actually makes you grin is pop's crucial creative triumph. Which is more genius than "sweet."
So calling the Pernice Brothers a pop project isn't the same as economic prophesizing or patronizing their mission. It's fairly unlikely that Yours Mine & Ours, the Brothers' latest record (self-released on Pernice's own Ashmont label, with, presumably, a modest marketing push) will ever crack mainstream markets, however suitable its calm, soothing melodies might be to blithe summertime cruising (check the 4th of July fireworks on the cover and gnaw a leftover hot dog, Americans). It's equally unlikely that anyone would find this record "never-too-challenging." But Yours Mine & Ours is driven by the same kind of quirky pop sensibility you'd find in a Top 40 song-- the incessant juxtaposition of reality and fantasy, of rolling heartbreaks up in unbearably light, lush harmonies and amiably cooed bits of poetry.
For the most part, the album is straightforward, guitar-driven stuff; nobody crams a fork into the mixer, vintage synthesizers don't disintegrate mid-bridge in a flurry of swooning blips, and Pernice's lyrics almost always make some sort of narrative sense, produced with an unapologetic eye toward polished melodies and clean, sweet finishes. Unlike the Pernice Brothers' previous two records, which featured loads of gushing strings and some big orchestral bombast, this is also a solid rock effort-- guitars, drums, bass, occasional piano or keyboard, and flawlessly harmonized vocals, exclusively. Taking a cue from his pitch- perfect vocals, Pernice has imbued Yours Mine & Ours with a golden glow reminiscent of classic AM radio and mid-60s Brian Wilson: it's all sunshine and broken hearts.
"Baby in Two" could sit comfortably on any Elliott Smith album, with its rich acoustic strums and steady percussion, a honey-voiced Joe backing himself in half-whispered laments: "I wish I knew/ A sure, simple way to reach you/ I'd be the King if I could say to you/ Cut the baby in two." Pernice's oddly dark (and inarguably bizarre) couplet (dig your own interpretation) eventually shifts into a high, rousing chorus of "Cut the baby in two!"; "Baby in Two" is probably the most pointed example of the Pernice Brothers sneaking an explicitly distressing plea into a sunny, eyes-closed acoustic sigh (this kind of age-old pop mischief is all over Yours Mine & Ours-- "Number Two" cheerily admits "I hope that this letter finds you crying/ Feels so good to see you cry.")
Opener "The Weakest Shade of Blue" is an impeccably composed, perpetually sparkling string of singalong pop hooks that clocks in at a perfect three minutes; "Water Ban" is lilting and strangely addictive, a pastoral rumination on summertime drought (think crispy front lawns, brown patches, and dull, hollow swimming pools: "It's hard to understand/ The cruel, cruel summer of a water ban") evoked via rolling guitar and twinkling keyboards. "Sometimes I Remember" is a Cure tribute via New Order, marked by a curious stream of backing falsettos and thick, post-punk guitar. Overall, Yours Mine & Ours is strikingly consistent: each track is fully realized, thoughtfully written, and prudently performed, rolled out with a steadiness that can become a little maddening after a handful of listens.
But like any successful pop venture, the album can feel a bit formulaic (and, occasionally, laboriously nostalgic): what ultimately saves this record from redundancy is Joe Pernice's stuttering conviction that every word he sings has been dunked in some kind of big, bold truth. Even those who prefer their pop records scrappier or more aggressively innovative should be able to unearth some kind of slack-jawed, clench-your-fist glee here; instantly impressed or not, it's almost impossible not to eventually uncover something useful in Pernice's intense, earnest dirge.
2003 has already seen pop principles well showcased by commercially peripheral bands like the New Pornographers and the Lilys (incidentally, Pernice Brothers bassist Thom Monahan played bass on two Lilys records), who twist pop formula into something smart and occasionally perverse. On Yours Mine & Ours, the Pernice Brothers have done same. Pop music edges one step closer to justice.
