Jack White didn't rescue Brendan Benson from obscurity so much as recast him into a different kind of obscurity. Admittedly, many more folks have seen and heard Benson in the Raconteurs than have encountered him as a solo artist, but (literally) standing in the shadow of Jack White, even when you share vocal and songwriting duties, imposes a different sort of shroud than the fog of anonymity.
In many ways, then, Benson's fourth solo album, My Old, Familiar Friend, offers a third start to a stuttering career hindered by label woes, radio indifference, and the kinds of hurdles generally not faced by, say, Jack White. With the Raconteurs having laid the groundwork, Benson finally gets his shot in the spotlight. But to say he's seized the opportunity would imply Benson's gifts were not apparent from the start.
However, one big difference is that this time out people actually know who Benson is, and, perhaps taking that into consideration, Benson's shelled out for top-notch production from Gil Norton that greatly benefits his otherwise mostly pro forma power-pop. It's a smart move, since unlike so many in that long line of similarly minded peers, Benson doesn't skimp on the power. Yes, the usual AM radio suspects are floating in the mix-- Cheap Trick, the Raspberries, Todd Rundgren, Badfinger, even Wings-- as well as the acts those bands borrowed from, but Benson emphasizes the raw power of his riffs instead of polishing them into a smooth sheen. It's not as DIY charming as his earlier works, but it's pretty darned effective.
For example, piano and (fake) strings aside, "Poised and Ready" is pure guitar rush and snarl, supporting by pounding drums and throbbing bass. "A Whole Lot Better", too, rather than going for pat uplift on the chorus, instead piles the intensity on even heavier, all without losing sight of the massive hooks driving the song. The "la la" singalong "Don't Want to Talk", the squiggly synth-adorned kiss-off anthem "Borrow", the mock-Motown meets ELO of "Garbage Day", and the proto new wave-channeling "Feel Like Taking You Home" all wield their relentless infectiousness with relish.
Yet My Old, Familiar Friend isn't some document of cathartic rage (predictable undercurrent of romantic woes aside). Rather, this is pure, unbridled joy in recorded form. "I fell in love with you, and out of love with you, and back in love with you, all in the same day," sings Benson in "A Whole Lot Better". "I feel a whole lot better when you come around." He might as well be describing the instant listener/song relationships fueled and formed by a lifetime of restless radio station surfing, favorite songs coming and going, many brightening up those bad days and making those long car trips go by that much faster. Back in the 1970s, Benson would have surely been held in the same esteem as many of those aforementioned AM titans. Here in 2009, he's merely the kind of best-kept secret you want to share with anyone who will listen.
