The grimy percussion that kicks off "Subtractions"-- the opening track to Dosh's fifth solo full-length, Tommy-- may shock those familiar with the producer's work. Dosh's previous records had a tendency to open with a sort of tonal discretion, allowing the listener some sapce before working themselves into jazz-imbued grooves. Tommy, however, begins in the middle, and as such, "Subtractions" sounds as if someone had flipped the "record" switch during a jam session without letting anyone know that tape was rolling. That restlessly energizing sound bleeds right into "Yer Face", with vapor-trailed drum fills and snatches of coos surrounding a rare, sighing vocal turn by Dosh himself. Together, these tunes are arguably more potent than anything Dosh has recorded throughout his career. An album filled with tracks like these would be a real treat.
Unfortunately, Tommy is not that album. Much of the record-- named after and dedicated to late soundman and friend Tom Cesario-- finds Dosh working comfortably within his folktronica wheelhouse. Maybe too comfortably, in fact: it's very easy to let this record pass right by you without noticing it's there. The issue isn't a consistent mood, though: there are takes on IDM ("Country Road X"), hip-hop ("Airlift"), and bummed-out folk ("Nevermet") here. However, none of these genres are tackled with anything more than a mannered intention, as Dosh treats the material with fussiness. What it really needs is a shot of spontaneity. Album low point "Number 41", featuring Andrew Bird, is especially staid, with a drowsy vocal turn by Bird that makes even the most boring of his own material seem effervescent by comarpsion.
Regardless, Tommy's strongest moments-- the elegiac piano on the ironically-named "Loud" or the hollow boom-bap of "Airlift"-- sound fully realized and complete, suggesting that Dosh's best work is still yet to come. When Dosh stretches his legs on the album's longer compositions, the results are especially compelling: a honking saxophone riff turns "Call the Kettle" into a woozy carnival ride, while the acoustic post-rock textures of eight-minute-plus closer "Gare de Lyon" rip open to reveal a brawny guitar figure and supercharged cymbal hits. Dosh has indeed graduated from the sketchbook-like arrangements that marked his earlier work-- but Tommy's occasional tedium is a reminder that there's nothing wrong with doodling in the margins, either.
