I'm still waiting for some wink or tongue-implanted cheek revealing that the stakes in Starsailor's maudlin utopian message aren't so high. Sure, immaculately sly Art Brut scene-skewering would be unreasonable, but these guys can't possibly believe, as their debut suggests, that "love is here." The other day on the subway some snot-nosed preschooler gave me the finger, for crying out loud! But hey, Starsailor were in their early 20s when they thanked goodness for the good souls. Four years and two albums later, the more world-weary quartet now shares an ethos only Staind could possibly articulate: they're On the Outside. Like every jerk who reads an Orwell or Rand novel and walks around a few days with a chip on his/her shoulder, Starsailor play the self-righteous yet simplistic social critic.
Beck and Elliott Smith producer Rob Schnapf is behind the boards on this one, and it's likely his easiest gig yet. Starsailor shies away from riffs, tempo changes and even syncopation, leaving Schnapf to whittle each song into a "Speed of Sound" offshoot. Such bland instrumentation only places frontman James Walsh higher on his pedestal, and unfortunately, he's ready to give everyone a 40-minute piece of his mind. Opener "In the Crossfire" wrestles with the age-old issue of dealing with fame, though Walsh conjures up more images of the Milton Bradley board game commercials than the "crossfire" between his private life and fame. Walsh's solution to this problem? Try the faith, hope and love on the track "Faith Hope Love". Walsh opines about "this modern world," offering the three title tenets as panaceas. Problem is, if the "plastic society" in "Get Out While You Can" irks Walsh so deeply, why does his band constantly cash in on its Coldplay likeness and leather-jacket, mop-top boy image?
Of course, when the highfalutin ideology falters, Walsh always has his big guns--love and oddly optimistic heartbreak. "This Time" is vintage Chris Martin down to the fey piano lines and lithe verse/sweeping chorus dynamic, and on "Keep Us Together", Walsh manages to both snipe at Americana and butter up his honey: "Folks in California can't live without their son/ They've actor politicians to infiltrate their young...The bitter the taste when they don't deliver/ Will keep us together." You don't need Dr. Phil to point out the crazy in that relationship, and it's the grave, misplaced emotions like these that ultimately sink an otherwise innocuous band.
