Aural Fixations
THE GREEN PAJAMAS
This is Where We Disappear
(Woronzow)
It seems so obvious it should be a truism: people who say there is no good music anymore ain't looking hard enough. Admittedly, it's hard to see the forest for the trees when the wood comes from N'Sync, Jay-Z, Matchbox 20 and Limp Bizkit. Even indie rock seems to be in a slump, if you take what's in the glossies at face value. Guided By Voices? Harrumph. The Strokes? Feh. The Get-Up Kids? Bor-ring. Where are the neo-greats, the rising musicians poised to take their places among the gallery of stars? Where are the new Beatles, the new Stones, the new Dylans? Most critics and many fans argue that rock 'n' roll is past its prime, that the days of pure quality, of finely-crafted music made purely for self-expression are long over.
Horse feces. There's tons of great music out there; you just won't find it on the radio or in the pages of Spin, Rolling Stone or Alternative Press. (Maybe Magnet or No Depression, though.) It takes effort, sweat, patience to dig through the mountains of hype, slick videos and admonitions from hipster know-it-alls to find the truly good stuff. It's not found in the usual places; it's too busy being taken out on the road or into the studios, or being created with an acoustic guitar, a bottle of wine and ProTools to call attention to its own existence. Great bands like the BellRays, the Bevis Frond, Porcupine Tree and the Chamber Strings and great songwriters like Paul K, Chuck Prophet, Bob Mould and David Baerwald make the kind of music that will hold up long after today's hits become tomorrow's bargain bin fodder. Sometimes these folks labor for years, tossing off masterpieces the way a short-order cook makes fries, with little or nothing to show for it by way of material success or even recognition. They make music with soul, craft and heart, and ask for nothing but the means to continue to do it. When the masses discover them, they're thrilled, but if it doesn't happen, they shrug their shoulders, pick their instruments back up and write another song.
An excellent example of all of the above is Seattle's Green Pajamas. This long-running psychedelic folk rock ensemble is approaching its 20th anniversary, and only in the last three years has it found regular release in its own country. Songwriter Jeff Kelly pens the finest, most intelligent psych/pop songs this side of the Bevis Frond's Nick Saloman, yet he still hasn't received the attention of, say, Robert Pollard (Guided By Voices) or Robert Schneider (the Apples in stereo), or even Julian Cope. Perhaps it's because he's inspired more by art and literature than failed romances or his own navel. Or perhaps it's because he doesn't beat the casual listener over the head with hooks the size of watermelons. Whatever the reason, Kelly hasn't acquired the reputation he deserves as one of America's best songwriters. This lack of popular acknowledgment hasn't stopped the band from putting out album after album of golden melodies, adroit lyrics and subtle emotional truths, however. Records like Seven Fathoms Down and Falling, All Clues Lead to Meagan's Bed and the classic Ghosts of Love reveal a tunesmith of uncommon gifts and a band with the ability to perfectly interpret their leader's work.
While the band's latest album This is Where We Disappear is by no means a concept album, it does seem to have a theme: the struggle between temperance and desire. While Kelly covered much the same ground on his solo album Indiscretion, he did so through the lens of Catholic guilt. On Disappear, Kelly uses Gothic literature, spiritual art and supernatural legend in a similar manner. Based on Matthew Lewis' 1796 novel The Monk, the rocking "Matilda" finds the protagonist veering between two planes of desire: for the pleasures of the titular character's flesh and for spiritual salvation. Even for those unfamiliar with the novel, with the closing lyrics "Do your worst for me/Do your sorcery/There is some sin I've still to taste," there's little doubt which need pulls hardest. The plaintive "The Moorland Ghost" is based on a Yorkshire legend, as the title spirit's dancing stokes the singer's desire for his lover. Related to "The Moorland Ghost" by geography, "The Waitress at the Old White Lion" finds the singer's innocent reminiscence turn to yearning for a woman he's seen only once. In "Sweet 16," a character not unlike that of "Matilda" (perhaps the same one?) vacillates between sin and salvation out of self-proclaimed love for a teenage girl, concluding "No one caught in the glory of God/Has felt such ecstasy" as he succumbs to his baser instincts. (more)
