Never Forget Where You Get Them

Superchunk's Mac McCaughan challenged Robert Pollard more than most of his other collaborators on their Go Back Snowball project, making Pollard find melodies in songs that don't necessarily play to his strengths. The results are a bit scattershot, but when Pollard nails it, these songs are refreshingly off-kilter. One of the joys of obsessively following Pollard's career is in seeing how well he adapts to any number of different scenarios and situations.

On the other hand, it's also rewarding to see him step into the batter's box and knock out a fastball sent right down the middle of the plate. "Never Forget Where You Get Them" is McCaughan's gimme pitch, a big fat watermelon that Pollard waits on and then launches out of the park. Unlike the other contexts McCaughan provides on this disc, here he gives Pollard all the elements he usually chooses for himself. A solid 4/4 beat, a fuzzy, memorable guitar riff and and some obvious places for a melody. Pollard then jumps in with one of his best vocal performances on the album. The vocals are slightly treated with some nice echo, and he event sings multiple parts to add to the interest. It feels good to hear him sing the hell out of something again at a time when dry, deadpan seems the norm.

It Is Divine

On the surface, "It Is Divine" seems like Robert Pollard's paean to summers of his youth. "The colorful summer, I still remember the smell of the chlorine, the diving hairline," he sings. Ah yes, summer. The smell of chlorine and the... um... diving hairline? Lost me there, Bob.

That, it seems, is his point. Inspired by one of Mac McCaughan's most straightforward, pretty instrumentals, Pollard eagerly embraces the feeling of sweet melancholy. But with each verse, he offers a twist. Thus the diving hairline. That is followed by the second verse, where the study of plants and hiking of trails morphs into strange echoes, lights and advice from cows. The third verse is just as strange, though more consistently. One can imagine polishing the pearl and opening the tomb, I suppose, but pissing on the hot street like transistor sunman? I cringe at the thought of watching that slide show in the Pollard's basement the subsequent winter.

With each verse, Pollard gets to the point: "It is divine my child, and it only lasts a second." No matter how strange your summer -- Bob, I'm looking at you -- it needs to be cherished, for it is truly divine, and, as any of us for whom childhood summers are an ever-receding memory in the rear view can attest, it does seem to last no more than a second.

Radical Girl

I'm simultaneously reminded of any number of '80s synth pop bands and Robert Pollard's own Circus Devils when I hear "Radical Girl." The song -- the lyrics and vocal delivery in particular -- could sneak onto a Hits of the '80s compilation with little trouble. It also, however, seems to foreshadow, just a bit, the track "Love Hate Relationship with the Human Race" from the Circus Devils' disc Sgt. Disco.

Love girls, hate boys
Flash passion, plastic fashion

So Pollard begins. Anything with "plastic fashion" in the lyric screams 1983, but that opening line also recalls the "Love people, hate people" that opens the Circus Devils track. Musically, however, those couldn't be further apart.

In truth, the music makes this sound more like something from the mid to late '60s thanks to Mac McCaughan emphasizing an organ swirl throughout, coupled with some mariachi horns to punctuate the hook. After Pollard's deadpan intro that makes one think of him in a poofy, brightly color shirt and an angular hair cut, he settles in for something more closely approximating the disaffected cool of indie rock. He doesn't do much with the lyric beyond that opening and the whole notion of a "radical girl," though offhand references to "motorcycle skin" and a girl whose spotlights are beeping makes this uniquely Pollardian.

Dumbluck Systems Stormfront

Mac McCaughan's collaboration with Robert Pollard may not be the most compelling as an album, but it certainly pushed and challenged Pollard in ways his various other pairings have not. Most people seem to have created song beds they think would be good for Pollard, music that plays to his strengths. McCaughan, in contrast, composed and performed music that, on its own, few would associate with the Guided by Voices honcho. The result is uneven, but it's the most-interesting collaboration in Pollard's catalog.

"Dumbluck Systems Stormfront" is a good example of how this works. McCaughan didn't offer much here, just a strummed acoustic guitar that sounds like the opening of a folk-to-metal '70s anthem. There is an opening fuzz-guitar riff that goes away before Pollard starts to sing, a bit of percussion, some quiet keyboards and a nice trumpet line in the place where Pollard chose to place the song's chorus. With this minimal framework, Pollard created a low-key anthem built around the line, "Get off your high horse, baby." By the song's end, he has created a massed chorus of Pollard's to intone the order (warning?). I imagine this Pollard army marching through the streets of a village in some Linsday Anderson film.

Throat of Throats

Having not paid as much attention as perhaps I should to Mac McCaughan's Portastatic project, I had unfulfillied expectations for his collaboration with Robert Pollard as Go Back Snowball. I was ready for a punk-pop throwdown; I got a drum-machine fueled bit of bedroom pop. I like the results, and now that I've caught up a bit with McCaughan (particularly with the beautiful and quite compelling Be Quiet Please CD from last year), it is completely in keeping with where he's at musically these days.

"Throat of Throats" was one of the songs that first threw me. Built on an obvious drum machine beat, some quavering keyboards and minimal guitar strumming, the song is slight with a subtle hook. Pollard, contributing vocals and melody, doesn't overwhelm things, but he is able to find ways to do more than others might with the tune. He's dealing with the call of the wild here, singing about "insects feeding and zebras bleeding."

It's a nice song -- damning praise, perhaps, but true -- on an album that probably challenged Pollard as much as any of his collaborations. McCaughan offers few obvious big hooks on the disc, yet as evidenced here, Pollard is up to the challenge.

Again the Waterloo

In all of Robert Pollard's collaborations with other musicians, that with Superchunk's Mac McCaughan is the strangest. That was a surprise, as I assumed that Calling Zero would be perfect fit as Pollard would sing over McCaughan's tasty pop-punk riffs. Instead, Mac decided to offer some off-the-wall experiments to Pollard, almost as if issuing a challenge to Uncle Bob.

"Again the Waterloo" is the type of song that will make you wonder about the quality of your needle before you remember you're listening to a CD instead of vinyl. It begins with glitchy crackles and pops, sounding like a trip-hop tune before heavily distorted guitars come in. The effect is that of a cassette tape that had been submerged in syrup, dried out and then played.

As strange as the backing is, it actually offers a pretty steady 4/4 beat and a few obvious avenues for a melody. For a change, Pollard's vocals and melody line seem to run pretty much where one would expect, and the whole song is as straightforward as could be expected from its oddball beginnings. As Mac adds keyboards and other found sounds to the mix, Pollard brings the song, home, intoning, repeatedly, "Again the Waterloo."