If I had a nemesis in the ruthless world of indie rock, it would have to be Dan Bejar. Nothing against the man personally-- I'm sure he's a noble Canadian and all-- but nobody else in his profession inspires stronger feelings of rage in my bosom. His last album, This Night, was a throwback slice of 70s singer/songwriter excess: self-indulgent, bloated, nonsensical. Maybe if Bejar restricted himself to his other band, Destroyer, I could peacefully ignore him, yet he insists upon sullying the good name of The New Pornographers with his phoned-in, momentum-desiccating contributions. Grrrrr.
And I don't drop this piece of character assassination to serve as mere see-saw balance to the frequent Bejar gushing put forth by Matt-ador LeMay in this webspace; this is full-disclosure pre-opinion, because if I were to describe Mull Historical Society (formerly a duo, now just auteur Colin MacIntyre) as the Scottish Destroyer, it would be just about the cruelest entry in my slambook. But for you, loyal Pitchfork reader, such a comparison could possibly be a glowing recommendation. Diff'rent strokes, y'see.
Similarities: a voice firmly rooted in his throat (though slightly less squawky than Bejar's, not to mention more appealing), a love for the lush-pop era of Jackson Browne and peers, and a preference for working alone. Differences: MacIntyre possesses an alternate voice for versatility beyond talk-singing every tune, offers less forced-juxtaposition poetry, and is somewhat more genteel in instrumentation-- due to that whole British thing.
The most profound resemblance between the two "groups" is the frustrating (if occasional) glimpse of melodic skill buried amidst the cliches and mediocrity, pleading for an editor or equal collaborator to swoop in and excavate. Opener "The Final Arrears" wields a sharp hook of a chorus, but the syrupy, wistful post-Britpop verses blunt the impact. "Minister for Genetics and Insurance M.P." shows glimpses of wry, Steely Dan-saluting jazz-rock, and "The Supermarket Strikes Back" is infectious and pleasant, but with over-glossed production and humdrum structure, it veers a little too close to a particular amphibious Wet Sprocket for comfort.
While I'm taking cheap shots, I should add that it just... pisses in my tea how critics (including the grand old NY Times) can take the non sequiturs Bejar shovels for serious poetry (what the hell is "I flew into a lesbian rage" supposed to mean?) And yet, for all his faults, Destroyer-man has never penned anything as trite as "Asylum", which pleads "place it on the sunny side of me" like it can't wait to soundtrack a montage of a couple tearfully packing up their respective things before tearfully booking their respective breakup flights on Expedia.com. MacIntyre isn't afraid of getting his hands a little sappy, whether slow-dancing ("Don't Take Your Love Away from Me") or biting Yorke's "High and Dry" falsetto to emote "can anyone feel anything inside of me?" on "Can".
Actually, in light of that simpering, Destroyer-lovers might want to scratch the above backhanded recommendation. Though Mull Historical Society is an act one could easily file under "pleasant-enough pop," at 13 tracks (plus a bonus disc!), MacIntyre's strictly 80bpm velvet-lined melancholia will test the patience of any Anglophile. My dislike of Daniel Bejar might be some volatile mixture of irrationality, priggishness, and psychosis, but one thing it's not is unfair, and McIntyre is not quite up to the level of ruining New Pornographers albums.
