There are only two kinds of music fans: those who focus on lyrics, and those who focus on sound. The former are willing to accept sub-par instrumentation for the sake of strong lyricism, while the latter are willing to ignore poor lyrics, so long as they're accompanied by strong instrumentation. From The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan to Kid A, this has been a major source of division in the music world.
This, of course, is one of music criticism's worst myths, perpetuated no doubt by fans of Maya Angelou. But let's pretend, for the sake of this review, that the myth is true. Then For Stars are for all you "sound" people. During the opener, "At the End of the World," you'll notice an innocent acoustic guitar, tentative percussion that includes a maraca, and a subtle glockenspiel. It's all very nice-- too consciously nice, in fact. But then frontman Carlos Forster and a set of more feminine pipes join together for the opening lines: "At the end of the world/ I am yours, you are mine/ When the walls come caving in/ I am yours, you are mine." "Lyrics" people worldwide are using Dylan for cotton balls, while "sound" people are rocking back and forth in feigned ignorance.
The rest of this five-song EP-- a collection of outtakes from the band's first two U.S. albums-- is more of the same: a quaint indie-folk band stuck in Frisco circa Scott McKenzie's suggestion to hippie pilgrims that they "be sure to wear some flowers in [their] hair." If I were a "sound" person, I'd invoke rainy days or summer's twilight. I might even use words like "bittersweet" and "heartfelt." But I must be a "lyrics" person, because I can't help but point out the revelatory chorus of the next track, "Brown Skin Saint": "We have dreams, they make us laugh/ We have guns, they make us cry/ We have cars, we'll get there fast/ We have airplanes, for the sky." And sung in a whiny falsetto, even!
The one true bright spot on Airline People is "The Racecar Driving Scene," where the Belle and Sebastian influence is, as opposed to the other tracks, more palpable in the lyrics than the music. "I got involved with the racecar driving scene/ We'd act like heroes, and smell like gasoline," sings Forster, the more subdued vocal route serving him well. Over the course of 4\xBD minutes, the song builds into a crescendo of distorted guitars and roused drums that signals an awakening-- literally-- of band and listener alike. But even this song raises the question: why does it takes five guys to make music this sparse and simple?
No one may ever know why, but here's a question you should be able to answer: are you a "lyrics" person or a "sound" person? Don't know? Here's how you can tell: if you've found the horrible pun in their name, then you're the former; if you haven't, then maybe For Stars are four you.
