I'mheadoftheclassI'mPOPULARI'maquarterbackI'mPOPULARMymomsaysI'macatchI'mPOPULARI'mneverlastpickedIgotacheerleaderchick!
Phew, that felt good, dinnit? Just takes you right back, like any good one-hit wonder should. And remember how, after the Kennedy raves and MTV Beach House success of that song, Nada Surf did the graceful thing by fading quietly into obscurity and K-Tel royalties? That was really cool of them. Uh... they did fade quietly into obscurity, right?
Hells no! Like the equally mystifying continued existence of their pan-flash peers Superdrag (sigh, WhosuckedouttheFEEEELAAAAAANNNNN!!), Nada Surf insists upon fading away rather than burning out. So now, they're dropping down to the minor leagues and trying to ignore showgoers' wiseass heckles as they tour America's low-overhead venues. If you're anything like me, there's a little voice inside of you saying, "Dude, weird, they're still around? Shouldn't they be headlining the John Deere Alternative Rock Stage at the State Fair by now? Could it be there's something worthwhile about this band to have so long outlived their original fifteen minutes?"
Well, that's why I get paid the big bucks, folks-- to tell all y'all not to listen to that bastardly little voice, who never did you no good anyhow. Let Go's only plausible use is to forcibly expose us to mid-90s alt-rock in the context of today so that we might come to grips with just how damn crappy it sounds. Of course, the very same effect can be achieved by simply dusting off that Buffalo Tom CD the record store's passed on sixty or seventy times and tossing it into the old six-disc-- a rather sad fact for the boys of Nada Surf, and proof positive of this album's dollar-bin destiny.
Somewhat like a defrosted wooly mammoth from 1995, Nada Surf embodies all the itinerant influences of the day, drawing their jangle-pop inspiration from, let's say the DB's and The Replacements-- that'll suffice. All well and good, but the band also carries with it the era's failings like a parasite, crimes that might've been forgivable back when we were sorta excited about 'Mats disciples popping up on the radio, but which come off as JUST SAD nowadays.
Building a chorus around the phrase, "I wanna know what it's like/ On the inside of love," in the at-least-aptly-titled "Inside of Love".
Hijacking a classic album's mystique in lieu of creating one's own poetic imagery, as with the protagonist listening to Blonde on Blonde in the again-credibly-titled "Blonde on Blonde".
Singing a song entirely in French ("Le Pour Ca"); although, it's entirely possible that inhabitants of France make up a large part of Nada Surf's current fanbase, somehow finding the time to squeeze the trio into their omnipresent all-Destiny's Child and Shaggy radio formats.
But it would take an entirely hapless band to go an entire album without stumbling into a few sparks, and Nada Surf find limited success in the purty harmonies of "Blizzard of 77" and the in-the-continent-of-raucous "Treading Water". Too bad these, and the other ten mid-tempo tunes on Let Go, are gleefully shined into harmless linoleum by the mixing board of Bryce "SuperSheen" Goggin, the only man who can lay claim to ruining albums by both Pavement and Phish.
Perhaps the only thing I can't give Nada Surf the old kick-while-down for is the rather unfortunate sharing of album titles with teen-of-the-moment Avril Lavigne-- and that's only 'cause I haven't got it in me to waste further time smacking down these clearly well-meaning saps. I'll admit, though: If forced to defend one of the two LPs to save my life, I'd pick Little Miss Wifebeater without a second thought. No, I'm afraid Nada Surf won't be regaining any of their past (hyuck, hyuck) Popularity on these shores with Let Go, and their fellow forgotten (Dig, anyone?) might want to heed their warning and stay retired.
