Pitchfork

Leafing through The Complete Pitchfork Works of Rob Mitchum, Year One, I've noticed that the prime recipient of my venomous ire has been the insidious "Return of Rock!" movement spawned by those over-enthusiastic Brits. Chock-full of worthless style-first bands, the whole phenomenon has left me cold from the get-go-- partially because my definition of rock isn't entirely confined to the Nuggets box. It's not that I don't like rock; I just prefer it to be motivated more by passion than retro fetishism.

Exhibit A: My love for Ted Leo, the man who perhaps most embodies any kind of Jesus act rock 'n' roll still has left in it. He's one of the few guitar slingers I'll still go to bat for, and not just because he hails from the same city-district in which I make my residence. Shunning standard-issue hipster influences like the Velvets and The Stooges in favor of didn't-know-they-were-supposed-to-be-good bands like Thin Lizzy and Dexys Midnight Runners, Leo wields his two specialty instruments-- manic guitar and maniac voice-- with unbridled enthusiasm. Note the lack of studied posturing.

So, naturally, I've been thrilled this year to see one of my favorite incredibly short people enthused over in the pages of Spin and Alternative Press for his new record, Hearts of Oak-- almost as thrilled as I am to write about him personally. But my critical duties compel me to point out that Hearts of Oak is a few steps off the pace of Leo's previous album, The Tyranny of Distance, an album so good it makes me want to commit that ultimate indie sin and preach that if Everyone Had Heard It, It Would've Been a Nationwide Top 10 for Sure. Freeing Leo's sound from the punk constraints of his former band, Chisel, and the experimental dub leanings of his pretty much unlistenable debut Rx/Pharmacists, Tyranny was, put simply, thee rock album of 2001, Strokes and Stripes be damned.

For such a drooling fanboy as I, Hearts of Oak almost can't help being a step down, but thankfully, it's a nearly imperceptible one. Leo mostly sticks to Tyranny's formula, playing to his strengths with only minor alterations. Most notably, Leo reveals a deeper fascination with all things percussive-- rarely does a track not feature noisemakers or tambourines rattling around somewhere in the mix. The head Pharmacist still pulls combustible pop songs like "The Anointed One" and "2nd Ave., 11 A.M." out of every orifice with apparent effortlessness, and each is coated in a Krispy Kreme-like glaze of sale items from Maracas Plus.

This approach culminates in the album's centerpiece, "The Ballad of the Sin Eater", where the only things not being shaken or hit with sticks are the bassline and Leo's vocal cords. Like "Sympathy for the Devil" on methamphetamines, Leo speak-sings a tale of traveling the world with American guilt ("you didn't think they could HATE ya now, didja?!"). It doesn't pack the wallop of the live version, already known to throw out the backs of the unprepared, but even the recorded version steals my attention away from whatever form of entertainment I'm simultasking.

Elsewhere, Leo takes a more traditional route, quaffing liberally from barrels of big riffs and catchy hooks. Not-a-Paula-Cole-parody "Where Have All the Rude Boys Gone?" eulogizes The Specials as Leo unhinges his voice like a snake swallowing a rabbit, caterwauling, "Foo-awoo-awoo-awoo-awoo-LESH!!" at the unconverted. And through it all, his revolving-door crew of Pharmacists sound anything but transitory, even slipping into a convincing Booker T. & The MG's groove on the Boston-referencing "Bridges, Squares".

Yet, as I said, I still find Hearts of Oak to be a slight sidewalk trip from The Tyranny of Distance, so let's just get my complaints out of the way now, shooting gallery-style. "Dead Voices" is the first time I've ever heard Leo's pipes fail him, resonating at an uncomfortable range like someone who started the national anthem in too high a key. Leo's assets usually mean he can hold an audience rapt with a solo number, but "First to Finish, Last to Start" is marred by an overdubbed guitar solo that's completely oblivious to the chord changes. And yeah, I could do without the whistling in "The Crane Takes Flight".

Still, Hearts of Oak comes out smelling far sweeter than the releases of Leo's fellow glossy-mag guitar loyalists. Eschewing pretentious unpretentiousness for unguarded passion, strict '77-'82 influences for the classic rock stop on the FM dial, calculated instrumental inadequacy for guitar solos that are less technical flaunting (looking at you, Malkmus) than skillful, noisy exorcisms, Ted Leo makes a sound filled with so much authentic abandon that the British mags probably can't handle it. And that, my friends, is just about the biggest endorsement I can offer.

 

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