Beneath a Festering Moon

Anyone who has followed Robert Pollard for any length of time knows that he endlessly tinkers with the sequencing of his albums. For evidence, look no further than to the "Directors Cut" edition of Bee Thousand, which shows several proposed tracklistings for what ultimately became known as (one of) Guided by Voices best album(s).

For each album, there usually are several versions, and it is always interesting to see what Pollard left off an album in favor of the final selections. One could always argue the validity of his choices, but in the case of "Beneath a Festering Moon," He got it right.

The track was slated for the aborted album The Flying Party is Here, which was an early working version of Under the Bushes, Under the Stars. It's fine, but would drag down that otherwise stellar album (it's the reason for the qualified "(one of)" above, because I think it's superior to Bee Thousand and Alien Lanes, the two albums most often cited as GBV's best). I can't think of a song on that album that I'd trade for this one.

That's not to say it's a bad song; simply that it wouldn't work as well on that album. As an unearthed find ultimately released on The Lounge Ax Defense and Relocation Compact Disc, it's a gem. It has the same feel as much of the UTBUTS material, but it lacks the punch of much of that work. Two interesting notes: There is an interesting sound that punctuates the first minute that sounds like someone hitting the back of a guitar neck with the amps turned all the way up, and the song's lyric includes the phrase "steeple of knives," which Pollard would recycle and use as the title of a song on Waved Out.

Orange Jacket

The first taste Guided by Voices fans had of Robert Pollard's then-new lineup of the band (the first post "classic" lineup) was on this split single with Cobra Verde. That Ohio band became Guided by Voices for one album, 1997's Mag Earwig! Two months before that May release, this single hinted at what was to come.

"Orange Jacket," the second of two tracks credited to GBV (the flip side given over to a Cobra Verde track), follows what would become a template for the best GBV had to offer until Pollard pulled the plug eight years later.

While Pollard's vocal is the focus, it is Doug Gillard's guitar that has the greatest impact. Arpeggios in the verse give way to a big rock chorus with one of those circular riffs that Gillard perfected in his tenure with GBV. This is textbook, the frame on which Gillard and Pollard would hang many a raving rocker. Hearing this, it was easy to understand why Pollard decided to keep Gillard around when he jettisoned the rest of Cobra Verde, and why Gillard chose to stay.

As if forecasting that outcome, Pollard sings, "He hits and runs. blows worlds apart, and from the start/ it worked so well."

Dementia is Rising

After years of banging out music with a band, Robert Pollard has made a prolific turn into another creative alley, recording what are essentially demos and then sending them to other musicians to finish. Or, taking finished tracks from others and tacking on vocals. Plenty of gems have resulted, but I miss the days when he would actually interact with other musicians. No matter how talented his collaborators, the hermetic nature of his latter-day work makes it somewhat lifeless.

When it was announced that he had formed the band Boston Spaceships, I had hope. Alas, he seems to record these songs in much the same way, sending demos to bandmates Chris Slusarenko and John Moen who record backing tracks and then send the tapes back for his vocals. The interaction between Slusarenko and Moen give these recordings a bit more life than Pollard's typical fare, but it's still clear that Pollard isn't in the room.

For the first part of "Dementia is Rising," a B-side to the Boston Spaceships' single "Headache Revolution," it seems as if Pollard is going to go it alone. He chops at an acoustic guitar and sings along. You imagine it as a demo sent west to his bandmates that was never fleshed out. Then, Slusarenko adds some spooky guitar, then a bit more. Soon, Moen's drums join in, and Pollard's lo-fi acoustic track has become a full on lo-fi band treatment. You start out thinking that it's a pleasant enough demo that would be a good song if the band had taken a crack at it, but quickly realize it is presented exactly the way it ought to be. It's fitting given the title, with the music somehow conveying the notion of rising dementia. That's a long way of saying that, despite its limitations, Pollard's new way of recording sometimes yields a winner. That's not to say this is a stellar track; it deserves it's B-side status. But it does work in a way a full-band, studio recording would not.

Beyond that, the song has a few great lines. Pollard offers some interesting math with "excessive force x ass = trouble in the distance," and offers a shout out to the great Minneapolis band, Husker Du with this line that references two of the band's best songs: "hate paper doll makes no sense at all."

Cruise

I dealt with my lack of love for Nightwalker in the post about this single's flip side, "Lucifer's Aching Revolver,"while also admitting a begrudging respect for this track. Now, I'll elaborate.

"Cruise" opens with a pulsing bass that will have you checking the label to ensure that your turntable really ought to be set on 45 (it should be), followed by an overpowering distorted guitar. Robert Pollard sings quietly and indecipherably, more in one channel than the other. Drums kick in, followed by a wanking guitar solo. After a bit, it all falls away to reveal that bassline, still thumping along underneath. That's it.

It's off putting at first, but oddly compelling by the song's end. Pollard and whoever else may be involved have managed to create something epic sounding in the space of only 2:30.

Oh, and those lyrics? Pollard intones "nothing will get in between you now" over and over. What does that have to do with the notion of a cruise, or with the cacophony it accompanies? Your guess is as good as mine.

Lucifer's Aching Revolver

As anyone who reads this blog knows, the things you want to do and the things you have time to do can be two very different things. I want to write consistently about Robert Pollard's music. What I do, however, is different: at times life gets in the way and I write and post very inconsistently. The holidays were tough on My Impression Now, as increased work and home commitments ate into my listening and writing time.

But there was one blissful morning where I found myself alone in the house with a couple of new pieces of Pollard-related vinyl. Taking advantage, I pulled a couple more 7" singles out of the crates and had a listening party. The results, as usual, were revelatory.

I've long thought of Nightwalker as the only one of Pollard's endeavors that make Hazzard Hotrods and Acid Ranch seem positively vital. In Shop We Build Electric Chairs, the third Fading Captain Series release, nearly derailed my Pollard fandom a decade (!) ago. I found the disc unredeeming, a noisy barrage of juvenilia that wasn't fit to dub on a cassette for friends, let alone sell on CD for $12 a pop. I pushed on, however, and even found a few things there to like after giving the disc more of a chance.

I bought and quickly filed my first Nightwalker release 15 years ago. The Freedom Cruise/Nightwalker split single was most notable for two things: the jukebox strip that came with the single and the fact that it was the first Guided by Voices/Pollard product issued under a different name.

While I have come to appreciate "Cruise," the Freedom Cruise contribution to the single, I hadn't spent much time with the flip side until my recent mini listening party. Suffice to say I won't be going back very often. The song begins with guitar amp buzz and doesn't get much more tuneful from there, noise for noise's sake. It feels like one of Pollard's first cut-and-paste experiments, an aural collage with boombox garage rock, some hi-fi guitar warble, strange six-string fuzz, amp buzz and finally some acoustic strumming so loud it overwhelms the microphone. Interesting once, sure, but those are five minutes of your life you'll never get back.

On with the Show

Robert Pollard has written a surprising number of songs that seem to comment on Guided by Voices' stab at the big time with TVT Records, most all of them negative. This one, coming as the B-side to one of the singles from the band's second and final album with the label, Isolation Drills, hits close to home. Given that it backs one of the band's great pop songs, "Chasing Heather Crazy," a song that went nowhere in the commercial marketplace, it seems fitting.

"Hey why don't we all just dive into statistics river?" Pollard sings. "It sweeps along to where shitheads forget." Punctuating these lines is a chorus of sorts, "come one, yeah, come one, yeah..."

He continues: "And the deal is closed, the celebration served, bank accounts will grow, on with the show."

Easy translation: The band is told it needs to do such and such (slick production, more traditional verse-chorus-verse songs, etc.) to sell a few records, with statistics cited as part of the appeal. Pollard points out that they tried this last time with Do the Collapse to no avail. They agree to disagree, release the album, call it the band's best ever and TVT makes money regardless of whether the band clears anything on the deal.

His argument would be more powerful if the song that carried it was stronger. As it is, it's a clear B-side, decent but fairly generic.

In the States (That I Go Through)

I'm not sure how rare this song is in terms of being able to find it for purchase, but I do know it seems fairly rare in terms of being essentially a demo that Robert Pollard never revisited or even seemed to cannibalize.

The song is found on Single Wish, a various artists fundraising disc put out by Sprite Recordings. Longtime Pollard associates Todd Robinson and Jason Pierce were involved, and several Pollard/Guided by Voices related artists appear. Tobin Sprout contributes, as does one time Eyesinweasel guitarist Nik Kizirnis. Other standouts come from the Candy Butchers (Mike Viola's band), The Impossible Shapes, the Green Pajamas, Mark Kozelek, David Garza and Ron Sexsmith.

But we're here, of course, to discuss Pollard. The song is lo-fi, sounding like Pollard sitting in front of a boombox singing and playing a guitar. It's not a bad song, per se, but there's not much to latch onto. Ideally, Pollard would have fleshed this out at some point. As it stands, it's among the weaker tracks on this otherwise pleasantly surprising disc.

Inchworm Parade

"Inchworm Parade" is yet another example of Robert Pollard's seemingly limitless ability to craft quiet, touching ballads with nothing more than an acoustic guitar and his wit and wisdom. It's also testament to the fact that fans in search of Pollard's finest work must look beyond the already steady flow of albums under various names and seek out every little release, no matter how obscure. In the case of this song, it is only available as a B-side to the UK import CD and 7" single for "I'm a Strong Lion." Those who track it down, however, will be rewarded.

The first thing you notice is the strong melody, sung by Pollard in a forceful yet fairly quiet vocal, as if he's recording this at home while his wife sleeps in another room... which, given the fidelity, is entirely possible.

The second thing you notice is the lyric, which is particularly compelling. "Since when does the punishment fit the crime?" he begins, in a song that ultimately seems to be about a romantic relationship where things are left unsaid. The first line is followed by this: "I don't stop to find a way to express myself," while he later asks the person he is singing to, "Why are you keeping it all inside, it's not good for you, you know."

The best lines here are found in the second verse/chorus (there's no real clear delineation here):

Who makes the sun keep shining
I know
You make the words keep spinning
then we do the ground.
The curtains make you lazy
And nothing seems to phase me
And we don't go out talking to the stars
and singing to the radio.

It's a fantastic little song that shows, collaborators aside, Pollard is in no danger of running out of ways to express himself.

Kiss the Quiet Man

Two things come to mind regarding "Kiss the Quiet Man":

1. Robert Pollard cannot always be trusted to pick the best songs available for his albums. This track is better than at least half of his new album, Robert Pollard is Off to Business. While that is a strong album that finds Pollard concentrating on fewer, longer songs, there is filler, or in the very least songs that could have used an additional hook. "Quiet Man," however, despite being one of the most conventional songs he has recorded of late, is very catchy and worthy of inclusion on the album. Of course, I appreciate the fact that he's willing to offer a top-notch tune as a B-side, so it's a bit of a wash, I suppose.

2. In the course of writing this blog, I've obviously listened more critically to a lot of Pollard's back catalog, particularly the earliest Guided by Voices work (collected on the Scat boxed set, creatively titled, Box). Again and again I have noted that GBV mach 1 sounded a lot like the many, many jangly, poppy rock bands that seemed to populate every college town in the mid to late '80s. As Pollard's songwriting improved -- taking on odd tangents, experiments and textures -- he largely left that sound behind. It's always there, lurking somewhere in the background, however, its presence only occasionally detectable. "Quiet Man" is one of the songs where it comes to the fore. This would not sound out of place on Sandbox, for instance. It's nice to hear him take a nostalgic look back every now and again despite the otherwise relentless march forward.

Firehouse Mountain

Nightwalker may be the strangest of all Robert Pollard's side projects, a mysterious "group" that makes some of the noisiest music in the artist's catalog. The strangest, rarest Nightwalker release is the "Firehouse Mountain" 7" single. It's a one-sided piece of vinyl (the back side has no grooves or etching or anything) with a blank black label and no credit information anywhere on the sleeve. Other than the common knowledge that Pollard is involved and the fact that it's clearly him singing here, the only indication that he is involved is that the cover image of three doofuses has been recycled in one of Pollard's art projects.

The song itself is one of the most psychedelic Pollard has recorded. It starts out with a tribal drum beat on floor tom and bass drum that clears a path for a slowly emerging guitar squall siren that itself gives way to guitar chords that sound not unlike bagpipes. Pollard comes in shortly thereafter with an ominous, slightly buried vocal. The song builds into a swirl of sound, Pollard singing "It used to be such fun to kick the gun away." All of that fades as maniacal laughter rises and falls as the track closes.

An interview found on the Guided by Voices web site offers a bit more information about Nightwalker and the single. Pollard says Nightwalker is "like a collage of a bunch of our songs. We edit the songs together and try to make one piece out of it. That was the Nightwalker concept." As for the cover stars, he says the photo comes from his high school year book, dubbing them "psychedelic nerds."

Deaf Ears

The first time I heard "Deaf Ears" on the "Official Ironmen Rally Song" single, I misheard the lyric and thought Robert Pollard was singing "My final words have fallen upon idiots." I've been there, and found it easy to embrace Pollard's sentiment. Of course, I was wrong, as he sings instead, "My final words have fallen on deaf ears" (Hence the title, I know).

The song starts off surprisingly raw and lo-fi, a throwback of sorts to Guided by Voices' pre-Under the Bushes, Under the Stars days. It's fitting, however, Pollard singing seemingly from a distance, his echo-laden voice letting the listener know that "This tear will never wash away on any human sanitation day."

The lyrics are twisted from there, Pollard seemingly portraying a Christ-like figure and the one who scorns him from line to line. He sings, "I will starve to death until you feed me with your tenderness," sentiments contradicted a few lines later when he sings, "You beckon me with open arms, you offer salvation and I salivate. But it's too late," the savior suddenly the one needing saved.

Musically, the song is very effective, that lo-fi call given fire as drums kick in and some fidelity is restored on the chorus. The song was apparently slated to lead off the aborted The Flying Party is Here album, scrapped and changed radically to become Under the Bushes, Under the Stars. It's yet another sign of just how prolific Pollard was during this time, and further evidence that this may well have been the height of his powers.

North American Vampires

Robert Pollard needs little more than a great title to spark a good song, and while no one would call "North American Vampires" anything more than good, it's a nice example of how three words popping into Pollard's head can lead to an interesting B-side.

In this case, it's about a minute of Pollard strumming a guitar and singing what sound like fairly hastily crafted lyrics. He begins strong:

Sensitive Einsteins
A crusty New Waver
North American vampires
Replacing a savior

But it becomes clear that this is pretty much all he has. Still, coming as it does here immediately following perhaps the most gleefully bombastic song in his catalog, "Glad Girls," it serves as a nice palate cleanser before tackling the last two tracks of the four song Glad Girls single.