Double Standards Inc.

Some songs get buried at the end of a disc for a reason. Not sure what the value of "Double Standards Inc." is, really. Robert Pollard does some interesting things within the confines of lo-fi recording, adding heavy reverb to his vocals and playing a stabbing guitar figure at low enough volume that tape his becomes an actual element of the song, but there's not much of a hook here.

Perhaps the most interesting thing here is that he drops the title of Guided by Voices fourth album, Same Place the Fly Got Smashed, into the lyric. And I know from reading up on GBV lore that the "same place the fly got smashed" refers to Pollard seeing a spider (commenters, correct me) on the same spot of his basement wall where he had earlier smashed a fly. What that has to do with a hot day in Kansas, the smell of money or double standards, I'm not sure.

They're Not Witches

What a perfect, strange little song, the kind of thing one imagines Robert Pollard writing and recording in an afternoon. Here, joined by his brother, Jim, and longtime Guided by Voices bassist Greg Demos, he knocks out a 51 second stunner that is all hook. With a plucked acoustic guitar and bass -- and some double tracked Pollard vocals singing in harmony -- an odd little tale of spoiled little children wrapped to say good morning unfolds. Red ants and mercy giants play a part, somehow, as do the angels of the bars. The key point, however, is that you should not "seek to burn them," because they are not witches. Fair enough.

You're At It

This is an odd way to start an album that is otherwise full of pretty catchy garage rock. It's a plodding song with average hooks, sounding like some sort of early to mid-'90s Touch and Go act (Tar, I'm looking at you). But it does have two things going for it: a great line and a guitar solo by Stephen Malkmus. Yes, artistic purity aside, Robert Pollard wants to sell records, so why not make sure Mr. Malkmus' name is fairly prominent on the back cover and that the song on which he appears leads off the album?

Oh, and that line? In an otherwise bland lyric, Pollard drops this: "This form of suicide’s not quick enough, what else ya got?" Worried you'll miss it? Don't be. He's knows a good thing when he writes it, and he repeats it again and again, with more fervor, as the song comes to a close.

Malkmus' solo is a fine bit of noodling, though nothing about it shouts "Pavementi!" to these ears. All told, it's a decent tune that might have been better buried somewhere on side 2.

I Love a Revolution

The great thing about the Psycho and the Birds project is that Robert Pollard can crank out a bunch of new songs -- recording them on his boombox -- send them to Todd Tobias and, presto!, a new CD of music.

The bad thing about the Psycho and the Birds project is that a good tune like "I Love a Revolution," one that would have benefited from a full-band, hi-fi presentation, will likely remain nothing more than a lo-fi experiment. A fairly interesting experiment and one with its own appeal, but an experiment nonetheless.

Built as it is on Pollard's boombox recording, the song feels like the middle has been sucked out. Did you ever play with the equalizer on your stereo, pushing the bass and treble to the max while dropping the mid levels to the bottom, thus creating a sort of rumbling, tinny vacuum? That's not quite what you get here, but it's close. Would it kill Pollard to go back in and record a real vocal, if nothing else? I suppose he might get only five releases a year instead of six were he to take that much time. He might need to worry more about lyrics at that rate. The only ones I can make out now are those that give the song its title (and the only ones recorded in the block of text inside the CD case that pulls a line or two from each song).

Society Dome

If pressed to name my favorite Robert Pollard songs, "Society Dome" would surely find a place in its upper reaches. That's strange, given the fact that it's not at all typical of Pollard, being neither a full-bore riff rocker or a quirky bit of psych pop. And while his collaborations have yielded many great songs, I can' say that I'd put many of those in any sort of "best songs" list.

But the combination of Doug Gillard's simple-sounding yet insanely catchy acoustic guitar figure and Pollard's alternately breezy and earnest vocal just does something to me. Every time the song comes on, I can guarantee I'll want to hear it again. In fact, it has played once just one time, on my first pass through the album. After that, it was repeat city.

Lyrically, Pollard doesn't do much. He does offer an odd juxtaposition, essentially marrying a futuristic tale with Gillard's classic folk melody and song structure. I imagine some sort of space soldier planning to return from battle, heading home "to the common section, to the place that we call home, to the list of viruses."

But does he really get to go? "I'm going home, focus on a dream, try to find a way out," he sings, as if he's unclear whether his desire to leave is enough to make it reality.

The "society dome" in question is not explained, save for the fact that Pollard plans to "stay in, keep it on." It's a perfectly Pollardian term, something likely picked up from a sci-fi novel or a misheard bit of conversation. Perhaps there was a point at which he thought about using it as the title for a collage, then found himself humming it while listening to Gillard's tapes and decided to write a song around it. Now, I'm the one idly humming it, finding myself singing "society dome, stay in, keep it on" under my breath at odd moments, despite weeks or even months having passed since I last played it.

Despite such lags, I've heard it dozens and dozens of times with no drop off in its charms.