Despite their crack rhythm section, the focus in Rilo Kiley has always been on Jenny Lewis and Blake Sennett, the former-child-actors-turned-indie-darlings. But if Lewis and Sennett are the group's Lennon and McCartney, does that make bassist Pierre de Reeder Rilo Kiley's George Harrison, a soft-spoken sideman who is panting for an outlet for his own songs? The Way That It Was, de Reeder's first solo outing, proves he's been hoarding material. As his band's songs have grown larger and glossier with each subsequent record, de Reeder has clearly saved his most intimate, organic impulses for his own work. The elegant, elegiac folk-pop contained here is so small in scope, so undeniably personal-- the third track, "Sophia's Song", was written for his young daughter-- that it would have sounded out of place amongst the synth-heavy odes to sin and sleaze that pervaded Under the Blacklight. But while Wonderwall, Harrison's first extra-Beatles release, announced an experimental spirit that the Fab Four couldn't contain, The Way That It Was actually proves the opposite about de Reeder. He is a traditionalist who is well-served playing in a band he's not leading.
Neither album opener "Shame on Love"-- an easy shuffle featuring de Reeder's gentle acoustic strum and laconic, Elliott Smith-like delivery-- nor its successive track, the twangy mid-tempo strut "I'll Be Around", would have sounded out of place on early Rilo Kiley albums (which isn't surprising given that the only other person playing on the former track is Rilo drummer Jason Boesel). But the rest of the record is a love letter to 1960s soft rock and 1970s MOR radio, smudged with the fingerprints of Harry Nilsson, Eric Carmen, and Christopher Cross. Though "Not How I Believe" (the album's best, featuring a huge campfire choir) and "Where I'm Coming From" allow him to use mellow accessibility to indulge in charmingly unabashed earnestness, his throwback sensibilities don't always work to his benefit. Without his edgier guitar sound, "Sophia's Song" becomes a schmaltzy string-laden piano ballad and "Young and Old", with its cringe-worthy rhymes ("And would you throw all the best things in life away/ Just keeping all of your troubles at bay") and thinly sung, sweeping chorus, plays either as an update of "All By Myself" or a missing tune from the Fame soundtrack.
It's admirable, however, that de Reeder has given himself over entirely to his newfound easy listening leanings. This collection is definitely cohesive because of it, and its themes of adulthood, responsibility, and the pains of growing up are well matched with melodies that would fit in between a Loggins and Messina superset and a long-distance dedication of Bread's "Baby I'm-A Want You". And generally speaking, his lyrics-- though unashamedly gushy-- are moving because they are so personal yet universally relatable. With poignant verses about the surprise of one day finding that you've matured ("I've grown up somehow/ Oh no, I never thought I'd change/ I know that's not possible/ But hey, hey, hey/ Just feel more comfortable that way") are insightful lines about the inevitability of the process. "If you're so damned scared of growing old, old, old/ That might come sooner than you know", he sings on "Never Thought". Good advice, not just to the legions of today's nipped and tucked Botox worshippers, but also the extended adolescents in the world of indie rock. After all, nothing is designed to make you look older than trying too hard to look young. And with this collection of dad rock Pierre de Reeder certainly avoids that trap, even though he sounds like he's having more fun at his day job.
