In the 1990s, they produced some of the most ambitious and resonant indie rock ever made, but in the 2000s, Built to Spill seemed content with merely existing. Following the high-water marks of Perfect From Now On and Keep It Like a Secret, they went into a sort of low-grade creative hibernation, issuing records every three or four years containing a few flashes of genuine inspiration ("Strange", "Fly Around My Pretty Little Miss", "Goin' Against Your Mind") surrounded by increasingly aimless jamming. Doug Martsch, the lead singer, guitarist, and creative force behind the band, was beginning to sound like a guy with nothing particularly important left to tell us-- we could stick around, if we wanted, to hear him play his guitar, but the lack of purpose was disconcerting. "Something is wrong/ Something invisible is gone," Martsch crooned on Ancient Melodies of the Future's "The Host", and with each successive release, it was hard not to revisit their earlier work in attempts to puzzle out anew what that "something" was.
On the unexpectedly terrific There Is No Enemy, it becomes immediately clear what had been missing, and sure enough, it was invisible: While Enemy technically sounds just like every Built to Spill record since Keep It Like a Secret-- the pinwheeling guitar fantasias, the ambling tempos, and the wayward vocal lines are all here-- it is buoyed by a fresh sense of emotional stakes, an urgency that puts wind back in the band's sails. For the first time in almost 10 years, it seems that Martsch might actually have something he wants to say.
"Saying something," of course, is always a loaded concept with regard to Doug Martsch: He has spent years telling every interviewer who asks that his lyrics contain no personal meaning, that they are chosen more for their meter and suggestiveness than anything else. Ironically, he often seems to be pondering the impossibility of clear communication: "This strange sound you said I said/ You're not listening or I'm not saying it right," he fretted on "Strange". "If there's a word for you, it doesn't mean anything," he insisted on Perfect From Now On's "Velvet Waltz".
All of this misdirection only makes the disarmingly candid, even open-hearted tone of There Is No Enemy more startling. Whether or not the words carry personal weight, Martsch is singing convincingly from the perspective of someone thoroughly humbled by loss. "Like anyone assuming they know what makes us tick, I was just as wrong as I could be," he shrugs on "Tomorrow". His shit-eating grin is almost visible when he sings "Finally decided, and by decide I mean accept/ I won't need all those other chances I won't get" on "Life's a Dream". The loss, of course, remains unspecified-- the only clue we get is "Pat", which eulogizes a lost friend-- but its impact can be felt everywhere on Enemy. "Good Ol' Boredom" celebrates the arrival of its titular emotional state as a sign that life is returning to normal, a place where "not so bad/ Seems so great." On the wounded, fragile ballad "Things Fall Apart", meanwhile, Martsch sings "Stay out of my nightmares, stay out of my dreams/ You're not even welcome in my memories" in a subdued mutter before delivering a simple, devastating clincher: "It doesn't matter if you're good or smart-- goddammit, things fall apart." The inspiration for this sentiment could have come from any number of places-- in the press run-up to this album, Martsch mentioned being influenced by soul music, for example-- but it rings with powerful truth regardless, and produces very real goosebumps.
In this context, even their well-worn and comfortable indie jamming feels revitalized. The core lineup of Martsch, Brett Nelson, and Scott Plouf remains unchanged, and they produce the same sound: a majestic, heavy-footed thud, held aloft by Martsch's transcendent guitar work and weightless tenor. But within this framework, they are pushing harder than ever before: witness the cooing "ooh-la-la" backup harmonies in "Life's a Dream", or the outbreak of horn charts at the song's bridge. Three-quarters of the way into "Things Fall Apart", a mariachi trumpet wanders in, seemingly from a Calexico album. "Pat", meanwhile, is a blistering, two-and-a-half-minute burst of anger that hearkens back to Martsch's days in Treepeople. But even the straightforward Built to Spill songs are some of the best ones we've heard in a long time: "Nowhere Lullabye" and "Life's a Dream" are two of the most gorgeously dreamy ballads Martsch has written since "Else" or "Kicked It in the Sun", and on "Good Ol' Boredom", when Martsch finally fires up his shimmering, multihued guitar, the following extended solo workout feels both thrilling and earned. The end result is easily the best Built to Spill album of the decade-- an improbable late-career reawakening and heartening evidence that becoming dependable doesn't mean having to settle for being predictable.
