The Releases: Warp and Woof (LP—GBVi, 2019) / Wine Cork Stonehenge (EP—GBVi, 2018) / 100 Dougs (EP—GBVi, 2018) / 1901 Acid Rock (EP—GBVi, 2019) / Umlaut Over the Özone (EP—GBVi, 2019)
Okay, so last week I spent nearly a thousand words not talking about the album at hand. It’s not the first time in this project that I’ve sidestepped talking about the actual music that I listened to that week; and given the heavy concentration of the remaining Guided by Voices catalog into a span of six years, there’s a pretty good chance that it won’t be the last time. After all, when a steady lineup releases music at the rate of modern-day GBV, it’s not as if the album-to-album context changes all that much.
And since I assigned an unexplained score of ‘6.8’ to Zeppelin Over China, I should probably offer up a few thoughts on it—even if they come a week late. But aside from having other things on my mind while writing last week’s piece, I genuinely didn’t have all that much to say about Zeppelin Over China. From my vantage point, it’s way too long, only has one particularly memorable song (“The Rally Boys”), and I find Bob Pollard’s vocal work across its thirty-two tracks to be some of his patchiest on record. I’ll reserve the right to chance my opinion upon future revisitation, but Zeppelin leaves me far more exhausted than inspired.
And it could be that I’m dragging that fatigue into this week’s work. After all, 2019’s Warp and Woof—which arrived less than three months after the two-disc Zeppelin—is a far more approachable listen. Containing twenty-four songs in a shade over thirty-seven minutes, Warp and Woof‘s track listing could almost pass for a classic era GBV record—at least on the surface. However, if you scan to the bottom of this piece, you’ll find a score that—while better than the one I awarded to Zeppelin Over China—falls well short of any that I awarded to those 90s era LPs.
And while it’s hardly fair to hold any artist to the standard of work that they had created over two decades prior, I can’t help but think that Warp and Woof was—on at least some level—designed to endear itself to fans of Robert Pollard’s most celebrated period. I’d have a hard time believing any loyal Guided by Voices follower who said they weren’t excited by the prospect of Warp‘s two-dozen songs, few of which surpass the ninety second mark. Pollard returning to this mode is like Picasso pulling out the blue paints again, or—in an example of something that actually happened not too long ago—Jon Stewart back behind the desk of The Daily Show.
But while it was a thrill to see the old firebrand back in action, Jon Stewart’s return mostly served to confirm just how much had changed since he had last assumed the position. Little of this could be pinned on Stewart; the commentary was still biting, and the general vibe still felt familiar, but an impossible-to-ignore weariness had set in. He was different. We were different. The world was different. Those first few Monday night appearances were appointment viewing. A-year-and-a-half later, I’ll typically catch the main segment several days after the fact on YouTube—but only if I have the energy for it.
It may seem like I’m grasping at a weak comparison here, but I think there are some parallels—beyond the gray hair. There’s something undeniably comforting in hearing Bob Pollard dash off minute-long songs on an album full of crossfades, unexpected left turns, and seamless transitions. It feels familiar. It feels right. But it also feels a little bit off. Bee Thousand and Alien Lanes didn’t succeed because they stitched a bunch of song fragments into a cohesive whole; they succeeded because those song fragments—even the tossed-off ones—contained spirited-but-ramshackle performances, lyrics that vacillated between inscrutable and life-affirming, and God-tier hooks.
And while the structure of those classic Guided by Voices record can be found on Warp and Woof, the content can’t help but pale in comparison. Try as they might, this version of GBV just doesn’t do ramshackle. This version of Robert Pollard can be inscrutable, but not with the wit and whimsy that so effortlessly flowed from his younger self. And even if this Bob could craft a melody like the ones that he built his legend upon, I’m not quite sure that his present-day voice could properly sell it. The bottom line is that we’re a long way off from King Shit & The Golden Boys here, let alone Bee Thousand.
But before you GBV loyalists break out the pitchforks and torches, there’s another reason why I think the Bob Pollard/Jon Stewart comparison tracks. In the decade that spanned Stewart’s absence from the institution that he built, plenty of other folks attempted to sit in that chair. Some succeeded better than others, but fairly or not, all of them were judged by the impossible standard set by a truly original voice—someone who occupied that space as if it were their natural habitat. And all the while, onlookers hoped that someone new might assume that mantle in the same manner.
And in the years between GBV’s classic era and Warp and Woof, plenty of bands and artists had built their names on a template that Bob Pollard had crafted: fiercely independent, relentlessly creative, and defiantly D.I.Y. And though plenty of these artists made worthwhile music in the process, none of them could ever supplant the original model.
And while the later-era Jon Stewart and Robert Pollard prove that the work they did during their respective peaks isn’t easy, and doesn’t come naturally, they also remind us of a couple of simple artistic truths: first, the great ones are those who forge their own paths, rather than simply follow the lead of those who came before; and second, even when the truly great ones have passed their primes, they’re still capable of making a compelling noise.
Rating: Warp and Woof (7.2) / Wine Cork Stonehenge (6.2) / 100 Dougs (6.6) / 1901 Acid Rock (6.8) / Umlaut Over the Özone (6.8)
*Singles are star-rated by their A-side; albums and EPs use the “Russman Reviews” scale.
Bob-ism of the Week: “I think about dancers pounding in my head / I worry about every drop of sweat that’s dead now / You better know peace and pray become alive / And anyway it’s a street that I won’t drive” (“My Angel”)
Next Week: GBV finally give in to the prog impulses that have always stood at the periphery of Bob Pollard’s work.
