The Dismemberment Plan: Emergency and I

Deep-rooted forces beyond my control are making me commend the Dismemberment Plan for coming out with a sweet and sour pop lozenge, Emergency and I, that is derivative, annoying, brilliant, thoughtful, and excruciatingly schlock-laced—usually at the same time. Yes, behind the oddly syncopated vocals and overdone synthesizers lurks a sensibility that has been growing since Jan. 1, 1993. With this album, the long-sentient band-organism that has lacked the attention given to Washington D.C. influences Jawbreaker and Fugazi and to contemporary emo tour-mates the Promise Ring and Jets to Brazil plots to ensnare reviewers as well as mainstream alterna-audiences. It probably will.

I'm not usually a fan of indulgent keyboard tricks, nor of such an obviously derivative sound (the record wears the bands mentioned above—as well as Pavement, Modest Mouse, Radiohead, and Prince—on both sleeves). But this time, they've caught me with their intelligent, funny lyrics and an irresistible combination of poppiness and aching profundity. After cutting myself free of frivolities like "Girl O'Clock" ("If I don't have sex by the end of the/Week I'm going to die") and "I Love a Magician," I'm still left with 10 other songs of sterling caliber. Although all are rousing numbers, three make it into the realm of greatness.

Over-lush, synthesized orchestration—often a cliché for "oh, this is supposed to be sensitive"—belies the cynicism of "Spider in the Snow." Frontman Travis Morrison sings, "The only thing worse than bad/Memories is no memories at all/From the ages of 20 to 22 I had five/Friends none of whose names/I can recall." Betrayed love is the theme in "Gyroscope," a song about a boy and a girl who have discarded each other. "If she spins fast enough then maybe/The broken pieces of her heart/Will stay together but ain't no gyroscope/That can spin forever." Fast, jittery guitars, a keening keyboard, and a wobbly, ripply, spinning-out-of-control effect at the end make this a keeper.

The last song, "Back and Forth," appears to be the standout. Its style comes close to spoken word, but it still abandons pop schlock for beauty. Morrison spits out lyrics like "A fear of dependence on a guilty gilt-edged hedged transcendence that makes us liars and tense when we look down/And realize nothing really suspends us") in a deeply compelling manner. I say "appears" because—maybe appropriately—as the chorus "And back and forth" kicked in, my CD started skipping back and forth and wouldn't let me hear the song through. But it was too late. This last-ditch attempt on the part of my ailing stereo to stop me from liking—albeit grudgingly—Emergency and I was futile. (DeSoto)

—Bidisha Banerjee

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