Records: Tobin Sprout's Moonflower Plastic

By Judy Fawley

Songwriter A and Songwriter B, once engaged in a profitable if unequal "partnership" in an esteemed rock band, split up to pursue individual muses. Comparisons between the resulting output of each seems inevitable. The would-be rock critic juxtaposes the recordings of said A and B in what turns out to be a futile effort.

Songwriter A, carrying on with the new (mis)Guided by Voices, resorts to cock-rock operatics and chucks off his gift for wonderful pop substance in favor of mere stylings. Songwriter B, on the other hand, continues on a straighter, albeit safer path down the rock `n' roll highway, clinging to his innate sense of melody, his multi-instrumental talents, and his ear for the varied sonorities a rocker can wring out of basement 4-track recorders, 8-tracks, and proper studios.

Tobin Sprout (Songwriter B) doesn't disappoint with his second solo album, Moonflower Plastic (Welcome to My Wigwam). As evinced by the endearing title track, Sprout has achieved a new fluency with andante ballad forms backed with tasteful, tame rhythm sections and simple piano accompaniments. The vocal melodies here always manage to stay fresh, with Sprout's lovably nasal tenor darting to and fro at unpredictable intervals.

Several other ballads are present, but of these perhaps the most interesting is "Angels Hang Their Socks on the Moon." The song begins with eerie flanged noises, sparse piano chords, and cool, metallic vocals before lifting into the sound of a beautiful, full-bodied band.

Sprout also hasn't lost his knack for infectious rockers. The opener, "Get out of My Throat" is a ragged, minor-chord guitar-fest with the kind of sing-along chorus
Sprout seems able to dig out of nowhere. And "All Used Up," with its simple, arpeggiated lead riff repeated over shifting chords, is enough to make any fan pine for the days of Bee Thousand.

The album's only weakness stems from the particular sequence of tracks Sprout has chosen. Like-sounding songs are grouped together, and considering the prevalence of slower tempos and similarly textured accompaniments, things start to blend together. That's a small complaint, though. Here's a handful of wonderful songs from "Songwriter B," who thankfully doesn't have to play second fiddle any longer. (Matador)

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