 | |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
sparklehorse: it's a wonderful life
BY RICK CORTAZAR
Right out of the gates, Mark Linkous buzzes, "I'm full of bees who died at sea." Is this a funeral song, or is it a song you play to the rain pouring down your window? I'm not sure what the difference is anymore, but I don't think it matters. What a perfect album to play on a day like today. It is Sept. 11, 2001. It's burned into your memory, I'm sure. It has been drilled into mine. My eyes are closed, but I'm listening to the sun's rays run down the leaves onto the golden pavement. More specifically, I'm listening to the new Sparklehorse album, aptly titled It's a Wonderful Life.
|
Linkous knows exactly what he is doing. His lyrics are roadmaps. Not maps to the soul or anything boring like that, but maps for the electrons in your brain to follow so that they can massage, or barrage, your neck as you contemplate the weather and the sulphur sprung from the devil's gun. Sparklehorse has always sounded lush while maintaining minimalism. The songs always seem on the verge of destruction, even at their most stable points. "Apple Bed" at first seems like a dying man's last poem as he squints at angels on the horizon, and then squealing strings, à la the Velvet Underground's "Black Angel's Death Song," stand up as if to beckon the soul to the flames. When they subside and "King of Nails" takes over, the weak casualty suddenly becomes the passionate overlord. The fact that all it takes is heavy distortion to create this transformation is certainly a credit to the imagination of Linkous. I have a vision of him hunched over the controls like Brian Eno, twisting knobs and translating the lullaby of a hummingbird into the roar of a lion. I love it.
The color of the album is hard to pin. It's not completely gray, because even as Linkous sings in the aftermath of his death on "Eyepennies," he's not angry or sad. It's also not all white horses trampling the corrupt, because the marathon march of demons on "Dog Foor" is one of the most frightening sounds ever. If the thought of Tom Waits imitating the rush of a train isn't enough to make you want to thrust toothpicks into your eyelids, perhaps you wouldn't mind moving far, far away, because you frighten me. This album is all over the map, but it's not aimless. Perhaps it's best described as colorless, because it possesses the same ingredients as, say, light...or nicotine. (Capitol)
All materials © 2001 The Yale Herald, Inc., and its staff.
Got any questions, comments, or advice? Email the online editors at
online@yaleherald.com.
Like to join us?