Girls of Wild Strawberries

Reminded by the Guided by Voices Database site, I realized that I saw Guided by Voices for the last time five years ago today when the band played at Gabe's Oasis in Iowa City. I knew at the time that, barring some unforeseen circumstance, it would be the last time. Robert Pollard already had announced the break-up, and the New Year's Eve show at the Metro in Chicago already had been booked. I was pretty sure that life would get in the way of making it to that one, so this was my last chance.

As I recall through the fog of memory (and beer), it was a typically great show. Pollard was in fine form, punctuating the set with long discourses about the state of indie rock and the band's place in it. He was clearly disillusioned and disappointed with the band's lack of commercial success. If I had written even a handful of Pollard's best songs, I'd be willing to chuck it all, too.

Songs like "Girls of Wild Strawberries" are a fine example. Though still two months from release on the band's swansong, Half-Smiles of the Decomposed, it sounds like a cover of some old psych-pop chestnut, testament to the timeless quality of Pollard's best work. As with the occasionally maligned "Glad Girls," Pollard has crafted a catchy song from a very basic, repetitive riff. I have no idea what the lyric is meant to convey; I assume it has something to do with the Ingmar Bergman film "Wild Strawberries," but having never seen it I can't say. Regardless, they are married to a gorgeous melody sung by Pollard with conviction. Add Doug Gillard's note-perfect guitar solo, which sounds like it could have been lifted from a volume of Nuggets, and you have key evidence in the case of Guided by Voices v. The Taste of the American Consumer.

I don't remember hearing the song at that show five years ago, though I know it was played. the GBV database set list reports that it was played 10th on a 48-song set, meaning Pollard was probably only two beers into his on-stage consumption and therefore fairly coherent. Pollard said often at that time that he knew it was time to quit because the band had made the perfect GBV record. That's not exactly true, of course, but it is a solid album, more solid than any other 15th album in the 18th year of a band that I know of (that's a joke, folks). Pollard has written dozens of songs the equal of "Girls of Wild Strawberries" since, but few have captured what makes the song so special, and chain of evidence leads right back to GBV. It may seem strange to say so of an entity that changed so much over the years, but I really, really miss this band.

(S)mothering and Coaching

After a seemingly incongruous, lo-fi intro that finds Robert Pollard singing "make them go away" to an acoustic guitar, the true song kicks in, sounding like a Who's Next outtake. Pollard sings in his best damaged Roger Daltrey, "There and always shopping, never think to stopping us when they meet us down the road." This is done to a quiet guitar line from Doug Gillard. Then the band joins, thrusting the song into new territory as Pollard sings:

You tear your childhood down from the cheekbone
You sell me down when you tell me you'll never
Spend days unfazed not to tell me, "I love you"

It has all the trappings of a Pete Townsend song about troubled childhood. It becomes clear that the intro is a child telling a parent to make someone go away, or perhaps an admonition to the parents themselves to go away. The verses and chorus then are a sort of response from the parents to the child, never more directly than in that chorus above.

By then end of this three-minute rock opera wannabe, the parents are asking the child not to leave, bringing the story full circle:

Baby don't go
We'll miss you so much
This is your home
Baby don't go

It has all of the tortured storytelling of a Townsend composition, and plenty of dynamic shifts. Yet it feels incomplete, the hook almost a second thought. As part of a larger story, it might work (as with some of the lesser, bridging tracks on Tommy, for example), but standing alone, it lacks something to make it fully cohere.

Sons of Apollo

OK, this is going to be a stretch, but I need some way to explain the long layoff between posts. You see, I live in Iowa City, work in Coralville and spend a lot of time in Cedar Rapids. All of those cities are in Iowa, and if you've watched the news much the last couple of weeks, you know that parts of all three were under water (and remain so, in some cases... Google it to see some disturbing photos). That has made for a pretty extreme life impact. My family and home are fine, but my office was flooded out, and the way we do business has been thrown into chaos.

That has meant that most every extracurricular pursuit -- this blog included -- has fallen by the wayside. It's hard to justify making pithy comments about Robert Pollard songs when I ought to be sandbagging. But now that things are slowly returning to normal, I turn to music to help me cope. Considering that a large percentage of my iPod playlist is taken up with Pollard-related songs, it was only a matter of time before he -- and this blog -- popped back to the surface.

I decided to go in search of Pollard songs that deal with flooding. None came to mind, so I consulted the GBV database and found, surprisingly, that only three songs have the word "flood" in the lyric, and none really deal with flooding as was witnessed here of late. There is Acid Ranch's "Electric Indian" with lyrics that include: "I promised you a garden, not an empire of worms that flood you with possession & sailboats & seasons." Um, no. Then there is "Smothered in Hugs," where Bob sings, "And the watchers of the flood were busy in their chambers, making sure there was new blood to sustain their dying veins." Better, but not quite. So, I settled on the third, "Sons of Apollo" from Half Smiles of the Decomposed. It's not perfect either, but it's apocalyptic tone seemed fitting: "Suddenly the floodgates are going to swing open and Satan is going to vomit filth out of hell." Yeah, that's close enough.

Flooding is a curious thing. It's a natural disaster, to be sure, but it's unlike any other. A tornado or a hurricane or some other force of nature is usually quick, the damage instantaneous. Not so with a flood. We had a few days to prepare, moving things to higher ground, sandbagging around buildings, etc. Despite that, the waters rose over a couple of days, eventually, in the case of Cedar Rapids, nearly submerging the entire downtown. As the waters recede, they leave devastating damage; everything is soaked and caked in mud. In the weeks that come, still more damage will be discovered. Rushing waters erode building foundations, meaning some will need to come down, areas that once were inhabitable are now not, meaning whole neighborhoods will need to relocate. It makes those affected wonder what they did to deserve it. I'm not a real spiritual person, but it's not hard to see all kinds of Biblical overtones.

How does Pollard figure into all of this? Surprisingly well, it seems. "Sons of Apollo" is one of his more pointedly political songs. It starts with a martial beat and minimal guitar, Pollard then intones what sounds like a movie voice over:

"And just when it appears there's going to be a successful campaign against smut
Just when the Supreme Court seems to be ruling against pornographers
When it appears the nation is returning to old fashioned moral standards
Suddenly the floodgates are going to swing open and Satan is going to vomit filth out of hell
And it'll be just as it was in the days of Lot and will vex the souls of God's most devote devout saints."

Of course, that's the other side, the opposition. Pollard is on the side of the smut peddlers, so to speak, rallying for free speech and freedom in general. He sings that "the archers have grown, bending on back to the new accuracy. Shoot for white hearts, ugly supreme."

Is he singing about ancient times or a world in which Fox News is a trusted source? Hard to tell. The hook in the song finds him singing, "Coming of age, to the new day of running." I can't help but picture Pollard leading a group of misfits, charging through the woods in advance of the new regime that seeks to purge society of anyone with ideas of their own. The dawning of a new age, end times stuff.

It would be easy to draw parallels between the current administration and the world Pollard envisions (or at least the one I envision thanks to his lyrics). Ignore reality in favor of bright shiny objects so we can carry out what we really want, the future be damned. Did the severity of this flood come due to global warming? Maybe. Are most people more worried about gay marriage and illegal immigrants than climate change? Sure seems so. Those of us who do care might as well resign ourselves to a "new day of running" of our own, be it running away from idiocy or thought police, or, sadly, flood waters.

Someone like Pollard is probably too clever for his own good, singing songs that preach to the choir. He can rant in his charmingly cryptic way all day, but until some dim bulb like Kenny Chesney bothers to sing a song along the lines of, "Hey, buddy, sure seems warm here on the range, thing we oughta think about climate change?" nothing will happen.

Still, Pollard offers hope, if not for those of us literally bailing out, then at least for himself in the song. As it crashes to a close, a faint, lo-fi voice sings, "I go free today." Here's hoping.

Asia Minor

I've written here often about the many examples of Robert Pollard's songwriting prowess, usually sparked by the inclusion of fantastic songs on releases that would usually draw also-rans and outtakes from most acts. The need for an editor (or a producer with some stones) is another frequent topic. With "Asia Minor," both notions are raised, because the song is lackluster and the performance downright uninspired. A decent producer (read: not your buddy who is your partner in crime on all of your solo work) would surely have told Pollard and Co. to leave the track on the cutting room floor and stick another, better song in its place.

Pollard's contribution feels like a scratch vocal, the take a vocalist does on a demo to indicate roughly where the melody should go without making much attempt to ensure that the right notes are struck. He nearly mumbles the chorus and can't even muster the energy to put across some typically obtuse lyrics. In fact, the only thing that saves the song is the band itself, polished enough by this point that even a sleepwalk through an average song is at least passable.

Everybody Thinks I'm a Raincloud (When I'm Not Looking)

If songs had feelings, "Everybody Thinks I'm a Raincloud" must surely be proud, chosen as it was to kick off the last Guided by Voices album. It's a good choice; a solid song with a good hook that sets the tone for the rest of the disc, but not so catchy as to overwhelm things. Robert Pollard, in addition to being a great songwriter, is also talented at the subtle art of sequencing, and this is yet another example.

Starting with a bit of single-note picking from Doug Gillard that gives way to a typical late-period power-chord driven song, the tune allowing Pollard to ease into things lyrically. On that note, the song seems to be another in a long line of self-referential commentaries on GBV's career:

'Cuz this is not my day
and nobody really cares
anymore anyhow
nobody called again
'cuz they say that I'm too lazy
to stay alive

Not exactly an uplifting beginning, but Pollard works his way around to his usual dismissiveness of the band's lack of commercial success. The masses may not care, but love, it seems, will conquer all:

With pillows of self-esteem
alone in a satellite dream
where I can't forget about a world
where every beam I choose
is shining alone on you
shining alone on you
Yeah!

Sing for Your Meat

"Sing For Your Meat" is one of the most straight-forward songs in Robert Pollard's catalog. Or rather, parts of it are. The song, from Guided by Voices' final disc, Half Smiles of the Decomposed, is a fairly pointed anti-war song. It's most powerful line -- "And 21 is the legal age to kill yourself slowl, but 18 is the legal age to die" -- is the most obvious. "Can you ever be a boy again or have you stopped?" is another. Along those lines are the lo-fi intro and outro, where Pollard sings over a single strummed guitar:

When you write
About the boys
Under friendly fire
Dress 'em up in suits
And seek her to kill
Freedom of the will
Ours, and yes, yours
Yesterday today
Onward marching on

Other parts are less obvious. Who knows what this means: And sure enough I saw your head at the tent sale and fire auction. For a taste and a chaser, you're a solid gold debaser." A taste and a chaser make sense, but I've no idea about the rest of it.

Regardless, this dirge toward the end of the album doesn't have much going on musically, but that seems calculated: Pollard doesn't often write this directly, so he likely wanted to make sure we heard what he had to say.

Second Spurt of Growth

One of Robert Pollard's sweetest songs, "Second Spurt of Growth" can very easily be read as a hopeful eulogy for Guided by Voices. I haven't been big on reproducing large chunks of lyrics here, but it seems fitting with this one.

"Exhausted from the last escape, leaving and returning now routinely. And are we changing to the taste of the haste makers? How convincingly?" Could this be a reference to the band's stab at the big time with it's TVT contract? Jumping through hoops and ceding creative control certainly wore on Pollard, and it's understandable that he would be concerned about the band loosing its edge in a bid to appeal to the mainstream, albeit with little success.

"I cannot change the future but I'll find you if you're gone. A second spurt of growth will come about me, don't doubt me." Here Pollard seems to be telling fans that the band's split is inevitable, and that even if they stop following him, he'll soldier on, if not improve, as a solo artist.

"And entities that hide behind images you love but are no longer there desire to keep you down, make you weak and fixed, but I'll be stronger." Bands that keep going long after inspiration has evaporated, banking on the marketability of a name despite the tepid nature of the product (Rolling Stones, anyone?) are doing no one any favors. Pollard will rise above that by shedding the baggage that had become GBV.

"Gather these familiar shadows, I will take them on. A second spurt of growth will come about me. Don't doubt me." Many a frontman has had similar aspirations only to fail at a bid for solo stardom. Aware of this, Pollard vows to take on these challenges, repeating the assurance that he'll blossom on his own.

Such sentiments would seem tailor made for a rousing rocker, a defiant, confident burst of energy to rally the troops. Pollard, who makes a habit of subverting expectations, instead sings this over lightly plucked acoustic guitar and subtle keyboards. Speak softly and carry a big stick, perhaps. Regardless, by peeling back the lid on this song even a little, it becomes more than just a short ditty toward the tail end of the band's last disc, but rather a true manifesto.

Window of My World

Robert Pollard has criticized one of his most successful songs, “Hold on Hope,” saying it is too straightforward and too produced. Without having the luxury of hearing the demo or knowing exactly what Pollard has in mind when thinking of the ideal version of the song (other than to assume that he wished he’d left it unreleased), I’m left to imagine it based on the way he approached a later, similar song.

“Window of My World” is the ballad on Guided by Voices’ final album, Half Smiles of the Decomposed. Unlike “Hold on Hope,” however, which maintains its ballad feel from beginning to end, “Window of My World” takes dynamic shifts that inject energy and save it from cloying sentimentality.

The song begins with arpeggiated nylon-string guitar, Pollard chiming in a few bars later to sing about “moonlight crashing” and walls that “once blocked my view.” From there the drums kick in and the song takes on a mid-tempo vibe over which Pollard sings more urgently: “Give me your number, give not my freedom to release you/ Seek me in slumber, take me in the words that so complete you/ Touch me in worlds that I might reach you.”

Uncharacteristic strings join the nylon-string guitar again on the instrumental bridge, leading the song close to “Hold on Hope” territory, but as the finally chorus hits just two minutes in, all of the elements converge to create the closest thing to a power ballad that Pollard has ever touched. By the end, this somewhat ambiguous song about unfulfilled searching seems to reach a climax in which the singer has found something resembling purpose: “A heart's birth gives me meaning, kicking and screaming,” and standing “shoulder to shoulder, I’m feeling bolder.” But he keeps things ambiguous, or gives into the lazy tendency of finding an easy rhyme, by closing with this confusing image: “Crashing through the world in my world,” something that is perplexing but, in Pollard’s world, seems strangely plausible.

It feels more organic, and certainly more dynamic than “Hold on Hope,” the earlier song given an even sheen by producer Ric Ocasek. Perhaps Pollard learned as much about what he didn’t like as what he did from the experience of Do the Collapse, and put that lesson to good use on “Window of My World.”