The Releases: Tonics & Twisted Chasers (LP—Rockathon, 1996) / Wish In One Hand… (EP—Jass, 1997)
For all of our collective fascination with the notion of the singular genius, the history of popular music has been equally shaped by dynamic creative partnerships. No account of the art form is complete without ample reference to Holiday/Young, Sinatra/Riddle, Leiber/Stoller, or Benjamin/Patton; and it’s simply impossible to imagine the world of pop music without the essential contributions of Ellington/Strayhorn, Goffin/King, Schneider/Hütter, or Lennon/McCartney.
It may surprise you to hear that I’ve never been part of one of these earth-shattering dyads; but I have been lucky enough to find at least a few true artistic kindred spirits over my thirty-or-so years of making music—and in my experience, I’ve gained at least some insight into how these partnerships work. First off, in order to function, the skillsets of each partner should be near equal, complementary, but not too similar. Ego is the biggest threat to these pairings, and when one partner can’t defer to the other’s expertise—and especially when one starts to encroach upon the other’s wheelhouse—these things fall apart faster than you can say “creative differences.”
Next—and this one is especially tricky—both people need to find balance in the give-and-take that such a partnership demands. They need to be able to give and receive feedback and criticism; they need to trust each others’ instincts; they need to know when to take/cede control. It also helps when the pair develops a collective ego: one that both can laugh off the futile attempts of lesser creators, and that can power itself upon a healthy internal competition. Finding this equilibrium is hard enough; maintaining it another challenge altogether.
Lastly—and perhaps most importantly—in addition to all of the other interpersonal factors that are necessary for any functional relationship, both members of these duos need a similar level of buy-in. They need to care enough to put in the work. They need to care enough to be willing to take genuine risks. They need to exist in a somewhat similar reality to each other. And, as a non-professional musician/songwriter who has worked exclusively with other non-professionals, this last part has been the true death blow for my most promising creative partnerships. In the studio—at least in the optimal moment—it’s almost as if the outside world doesn’t exist. But it does exist.
Robert Pollard has never been a part of one of these duos. His own artistic existence—especially when paired with a background that is crucial to both his personal character and creative vision—is so improbable, that he’s doomed to be one of those truly singular geniuses. Robert Pollard could never be in one of these pairings, because there is only one Robert Pollard; he has no equal—at least not within the insular Dayton, Ohio world in which he insists on both living and operating. However, during the peak of his powers, Pollard had the next best thing: a foil.
Now plenty of Guided by Voices fans would argue that Bob Pollard’s most indispensable collaborator is guitarist Doug Gillard—we’ll meet him next week—but Pollard’s greatest work came during the years that Tobin Sprout was a fully participating member of GBV. Propeller, Bee Thousand, Alien Lanes, and Under the Bushes Under the Stars were all, in no insignificant manner, shaped by Sprout’s songwriting, singing, instrumental work, and production. It was Sprout who manned the four-track machine that captured GBV’s twin masterpieces. It was his voice that harmonized with Pollard’s on “14 Cheerleader Coldfront,” “Echos Myron,” and “Blimps Go 90.” It was his presence that solidified the alchemy of GBV’s “classic era.”
No, Tobin Sprout wasn’t the Paul to Bob’s John. In fact, in a Beatles/GBV metaphor, Pollard is both John and Paul. But Sprout was at least a George; and whether that means Harrison or Martin is up to you. The thing is, through GBV’s most storied era, Sprout was arguably the only person in Pollard’s orbit that could accurately be described as a particularly artistically-minded presence. Jimmy Pollard—who didn’t even really consider himself to be much of a guitarist—was largely around because Bob wanted his younger brother involved. Mitch Mitchell could play guitar, sure, but he was a ‘rocker’: a certified free spirit who embodied the group’s legendarily hedonistic side far more than its creative one. Kevin Fennell, a plenty-solid drummer, was consistently around during the band’s peak, but rarely contributed to its songwriting. And even Greg Demos—one of GBV’s more adept musical contributors—made the pragmatic choice of a law career over one as an indie-level rock star.
In stark contrast to the rest of the “not-Bob” GBV sphere, Tobin Sprout was a genuinely creative mind: a reasonably accomplished visual artist, with a keen knack for melody. In his best moments, Sprout could pitch in with the occasional song that challenged—if not exactly matched—Pollard’s gift for an indelible hook. And while they pale in comparison to “Game of Pricks,” “I Am a Scientist,” or “Tractor Rape Chain,” Sprout’s contributions were often among the highlights of GBV’s best albums. And even more importantly, it’s not hard to imagine that Sprout’s presence pushed Pollard—a definitively superior songwriting talent—to even greater heights. The evidence is found in the records that Sprout was a critical part of, and his absence is felt in the ones created after his departure.
And that departure ultimately came to fruition some time in 1996, after the birth of Sprout’s second child. As told in Matthew Cutter’s 2018 Pollard/GBV biography, Closer You Are, Sprout delivered the news in person. Pollard’s reply was, “We’ll wait for you”—an offer that never would have been made to Mitchell, Fennell, Demos, or any of GBV’s literal dozens of alumni. However, a restlessly-creative mind like Robert Pollard’s can only wait for so long, and the momentum gained from the band’s still-recent breakthrough would only last for so long. As such, Pollard would be forced to forge ahead, sans his most crucial collaborator to date. And thus, Tonics & Twisted Chasers—issued as a fan club-only release during the 1996 holiday season—would be the last GBV project with full participation from both Pollard and Sprout until the “classic lineup” reunion in 2011.
And the first thing to know about Tonics—aside from the fact that it’s no mere curio for hardcore fans only—is that it’s essentially a Pollard/Sprout duo effort. Recording details are scarce, but it is not evident that any other GBV members participated in the sessions. As a result, it’s easy to hear the LP for what it is: a collaboration between two artistically-minded musicians/songwriters, who turned their uniquely-Midwestern boredom into something genuinely special. Its elemental structure is simple: most (if not all) of the drums are ‘performed’ by a drum machine; several of its songs could charitably be described as “tossed-off”; it makes even the decidedly lo-fi contours of Bee Thousand sound practically epic by comparison. But at its best, Tonics & Twisted Chasers is a fitting denouement to GBV’s most celebrated era. When it’s merely going through the motions, it’s excellent. When at its best, it’s outstanding.
According to most accounts, Sprout contributed the lion’s share of the instrumental tracks for Tonics, while Pollard added lyrics and vocal performances. It’s a process not unlike that which would eventually yield two albums under the Airport 5 moniker—2001’s Tower in the Fountain of Sparks and 2002’s Life Starts Here—but arriving as it did, adjacent to GBV’s most beloved work, helps to ensure a level of quality that doesn’t always translate to Pollard’s myriad solo projects. It may not contain most of the classic lineup, or possess the same number of mini masterworks that dot the landscape of GBV’s best-known records, but Tonics is bound to scratch the itch of anyone who longs for more from the already-deep well of the band’s 1992-1996 era.
Among the highlights of Tonics & Twisted Chasers, “Dayton, Ohio – 19 Something and 5” (an homage-of-sorts to Randy Newman’s similarly-titled Sail Away track) stands the tallest. It expertly captures the aforementioned ennui, as well as the genuine pleasures, of what coastal types are so quick to dismiss as “flyover country.” And even if the lyrics weren’t among Pollard’s most vividly descriptive, Sprout’s instrumental backing would be plenty capable of evoking glorious nostalgia. It’s the LP’s one true all-timer: one-and-three-quarter-minutes of warm, brilliant perfection.
Elsewhere, Tonics adds plenty of worthy candidates for any GBV mixtape: “Is She Ever?,” “At the Farms,” “Optional Bases Opposed,” and “158 Years of Beautiful Sex” are just a handful of the fan favorites. And even amongst the five bonus tracks—added onto the eventual CD release—you’ll find hidden gems. That the Pollard/Sprout era of Guided by Voices comes to a close on a set that so effortlessly recaptures the charm of a dizzyingly prolific four-year span is bittersweet. And, if experienced in real-time—with knowledge of its context—I can imagine fans wishing that its creators would reconsider their decision to end such a fruitful artistic union.
But as much as Robert Pollard valued Tobin Sprout’s contributions to Guided by Voices, deep down he also knew that Robert Pollard was Guided by Voices. And sometime shortly after the completion of Tonics & Twisted Chasers, Pollard readied a three-song EP that—depending on one’s perspective—could be viewed as either the final word on the band’s classic era, or the opening salvo in GBV’s next phase. Recorded by Pollard, Kevin Fennell, and Nick Schuld, Wish in One Hand would be the first post-Sprout GBV release.
It all goes by in a flash: three songs in just a shade over six minutes. The least of the three, “Now I’m Crying,” has often been compared to John Lennon’s “primal scream” era record, Plastic Ono Band—famously recorded shortly after the demise of pop music’s greatest songwriting partnership. Again, it’s the least of the three songs, in that it is merely excellent. The next best track is the closing “Real”: an almost-shockingly-direct song from a notoriously cryptic lyricist. There are no elf kickers, robot boys, or dreadful crows to be found here: just a sweetly sentimental melody, and lyrics to match. It is a simply phenomenal song (and frustratingly, not presently available on any legitimate streaming services).
But it’s Wish in One Hand‘s opening track that earns top billing on the marquee. Written around a conceit that came to him during a particularly awkward moment from his teaching days—a student had caught Pollard mid-nose pick—Bob fashioned a melody for the ages. In fact, into its (all of) eighty-five seconds, Pollard crammed a quantity of hooks that could conservatively be called obscene—and would most accurately be characterized as impossible. If you’ve heard its chorus even once, you’re not likely to ever forget it:
Someone tell me why
I do the things that I don’t wanna do
When you’re around me, I’m somebody else
Don’t blame me for putting it in your head. That’s on Bob Pollard.
And with a hook like that, who needs a creative partner?
Ratings: Tonics & Twisted Chasers (8.1) / Wish in One Hand… (8.3)*
*Singles are star-rated by their A-side; albums and EPs use the “Russman Reviews” scale.
Bob-ism of the Week: “The smell of fried foods and pure hot tar / Man, you needn’t travel far / To feel completely alive / On strawberry Philadelphia Drive / On a hazy day in 19 something and 5” (“Dayton, Ohio – 19 Something and 5”)
Next Week: The ‘Guided by Verde’ era begins, as Robert Pollard teams up with a group of Cleveland hotshots for his next move.
