Field Jacket Blues

I always forget about "Field Jacket Blues" when I put From a Compound Eye on the CD player. "Gold" is easy to remember, a passive-aggressive opener that makes you sit up and listen, while the third track, "Dancing Girls and Dancing Men" is a bouncing pop song that is instantly memorable. But "Field Jacket Blues" is a strange tune that nonetheless serves perhaps its greatest purpose as a bridge between those two tracks.

The song is only about 1:45 long, and at first it seems like it will be one of Pollard's quirky little experiments. An alien-sounding guitar line wiggles its way out of the speakers, followed by some tentatively strummed power chords. Then it repeats. On the second go round, the chords sustain and a rocking 4/4 drum beat rises. The guitar chords become a riff and then Pollard's vocal appears.

Play now.
No one ever treat you so bad like you treat me so bad.
Pray now.
Pray.
No one ever send you away.

The guitar riff fades and the alien guitar line returns, followed by the tentative chords. It's like some broadcast pulled in on a Martian radio station. The typical, droning tune is superseded by a blast of Pollard coming in from the heavens, only to reassert itself after a few seconds: "We now return to our regularly scheduled program."

It's too much at this point to wish that Pollard always recognized the potential of his shards and fragments, but still I wonder what the song could have been had the burst of vocal been the first verse of a song that had a stronger hook in the chorus. Ah, dare to dream.