I've never seen the Sea and Cake play, but I wouldn't be surprised if they did so with their backs to the crowd. Their albums have never been unapproachable-- most of the time, in fact, they're pretty and inviting. They have great ears for rhythm, borrowing from bossa nova and Afro-pop, and they've a charming vocalist in Sam Prekop. And yet they can come off as stuffy and cerebral-- the kind of band categorized as "pop" by default, the way you'd use the word to describe Stereolab or their neighbors and contemporaries Tortoise. These qualities became even more prominent with the keyboards and electronic dalliances on albums beginning in 1997 with The Fawn up through 2003's One Bedroom. So I picture them on stage interpreting some fluttering theme over bongos and layers of analog keyboards, their brows furrowed over nailing a sound rather than playing a song.
Whether ethnic or electronic, whatever the Sea and Cake runs through their eccentric filter winds up sounding slightly "off," either from the space and ambiguity in their compositions or the hoarse peculiarity of Prekop's voice. Yet even a more direct, backyard-barbecue-ready album album like Everybody still works. In fact, it may fit the band's idiosyncrasies even better. In moving a little closer to the middle-of-the-road, they start exuding something long absent from the group: warmth. The band that once cultivated abstraction and aloofness now, as elder statesmen of Chicago post-rock, stuffs its liners with pictures of their hometown next to guitar tablatures spelling out the chords for their songs. The Sea and Cake want to be your friends, all of a sudden. To make another one of those inevitable Chicago comparisons: in a catalog full of stiff frosts, this record is the thaw. Its spring release couldn't be more perfectly timed.
"Up on Crutches" quickly sets the tone with a sparkling, insistent strum, a typical rock pattern from the drums, and Prekop sounding breathlessly nonchalant while the rhythm builds. "Too Strong" has the typically effete melody you'd expect from the band, though it's far more immediate and has a stunning slow jangle of a chorus, deft and breathtaking in its quiet appeal. Not to make him self-conscious, but age suits Prekop well, as he creaks earnestly and sounds wizened and authoritative no matter what he's singing about. This is especially noticeable in "Middlenight", where he pines about a possible "return to better days" while pedal steel guitar warms the soles of listeners basking in its gorgeous mid-tempo strumming.
Everybody picks up the pace in more than one spot, however: "Crossing Line" is one of their best pop songs, hummable and slick with a buzzing single-note guitar tearing through Prekop's cheery "doot-doo-doo"' and simple requests ("All I need's a little smile"). There's some syncopation in "Exact to Me" that recalls their love for the bossa nova beat, though it's far too straightforward and sinewy to fit in with their earlier work. Likewise with the monotone pluck of "Lightning", with a rhythm so tricky it'd sound like a CD skipping if not for the calming consistency of Prekop's crooning.
It's a shame that adjectives like "pleasant" wind up sounding backhanded or inadequate; maybe "playful" is a better word for Everybody. That it still sounds mischievous and human through the band's studious chops and omnivorous listening habits is no small feat, as these qualities have eluded them for quite a while. It's been four years since their last album, and Chicago's post-rock heyday has past, but the Sea and Cake remain relevant simply by becoming more transparent. They're still in the business of being a pop band, and this might be their most direct pop record.
