Perfect Sound Forever

by Stefan Beck

It was a dark day for Chuck Taylor-shod indie rockers everywhere when Pavement announced their breakup, shortly after the 1999 release of their sixth album, Terror Twilight. The band, modestly described by ex-frontman Stephen Malkmus as a “medium big college-rock band,” is perhaps best known for its 1992 debut, the low-fi opus Slanted and Enchanted. The album combines stumbling percussion and sloppy guitars with plenty of basement-band passion. But its finest ingredient is, without a doubt, Steve Malkmus. His puzzling lyrics, and a vocal style that jumps from downhearted to sarcastic to nonchalant, gave Pavement a cult following even before their first album was released.

The breakup came as a shock to many, but Malkmus maintains that it was bound to happen. His bandmates lived all over the country. He wrote most of their songs himself, and Pavement came together only in the recording studio. Camaraderie and collaboration decidedly lacking, Steve decided to ditch Pavement, find a few good musicians in Portland, Oregon, where he currently resides, and put together a solo album.

Pavement fans will be pleased to find that the resulting album, simply titled Stephen Malkmus (Matador Records), is similar in its sound and polish to the band’s most recent efforts. The understated emotion that characterized Terror Twilight is evident in tracks like “Black Book” and “Church on White.” The jarring, frantic pace of Steve’s vocals on “Troubbble” is reminiscent of many of the best songs on 1997’s Brighten the Corners. Yet, as good as these Pavement albums are, Stephen Malkmus is something more. By far the most cohesive and well-produced of Malkmus’ efforts to date, it is the next step in the evolution of the “Pavement sound.”

Malkmus sans Pavement has a kinder, gentler, and more refined sound. This is due in large part to his new band, consisting of drummer John Moen and bassist Joanna Bolme. They provide an element of legitimate musicianship that has hitherto been lacking in Malkmus’ projects. Steve himself describes the new band as “a continuation of the ‘esprit du Pavement’ with a different rhythm section and less Bob Nastanovich.” Nastanovich, Pavement’s notoriously unskilled and unruly percussionist, is emblematic of everything that Stephen Malkmus is not. It is not amateurish, confusing, or inconsistent. On the contrary, it is the focused, well-executed work of a musician who has matured tremendously and has finally decided exactly what he wants to sound like.

The album opens with “Black Book,” a mellow, moderately paced number that sets the tone for the songs that follow it. Guitars and subdued bass rumble along with hushed vocals, occasionally hovering near the point of total rock chaos, but never arriving at it. Generally speaking, Stephen Malkmus is a low-key album. Even the few songs that feature guitar-hero solos stand mellowed—matured?—compared to their explosive Pavement-era counterparts.

“Jo Jo’s Jacket,” a (mostly) inexplicable song about Yul Brynner, has some of the album’s funniest lyrics: “I’m not what you think I am / I’m the King of Siam / I’ve got a bald head / My name is Yul Brynner / and I am a famous movie star.” Malkmus (or Yul, you might say) is a prima donna on the rampage. This impression is reinforced by a sample, at the beginning of the song, of Brynner pompously explaining his shaven head. The song is a preemptive message to Steve’s critics: sure, I quit Pavement, but I don’t take myself as seriously as you think I do.

Two beautiful, moody songs, “Church On White” and “Pink India,” set this album apart from Malkmus’ previous work. Their melodies and guitar work are thoughtful and delicate; they have none of the ragged, sloppy energy for which Malkmus is famous. Yet they are by far the most affecting tracks on the album, and proof that Malkmus is a more-than-one-trick kind of pony.

However, these tracks are offset by a jokey tale of Turkish pirates (“The Hook,” the album’s first single), and a tropical, falsetto-riddled song (“Phantasies”) too ridiculous for words. These are much-needed assurances that Stephen Malkmus is not getting too sober in his old age. He is still capable of being the spastic, incomprehensible freak that Pavement fans have always known and loved.

There are quite a few odd sounds that might have seemed out of place on a Pavement album: toy piano on “Troubbble,” steel guitar on “Trojan Curfew,” steel drums on “Vague Space,” and keyboards throughout. This is pure experimentation; of course, only some of it succeeds. Throwing steel drums into a rock song is sort of funny, but it’s also pretty annoying. It makes the song seem like a throwaway. 

For the most part, though, Malkmus’ dabbling in cool noises and weird accompaniments is a step in the right direction.

The same goes for the attention Malkmus has paid to song structure and continuity on this album. On a typical Pavement album, the music is completely free-form, schizophrenic. Wowee Zowee, their fifth album, is the polar opposite of Stephen Malkmus. It features songs like “Half a Canyon,” which opens with Texas blues, segues into horror-score organ music, and falls apart completely. On Stephen Malkmus, however, songs finish roughly the way they started, and boast the novel combination (for Malkmus) of both verses and a refrain.

Only two songs on the album disappoint: “Phantasies” and “Jennifer and the Ess-Dog.” Neither are necessarily bad songs. “Phantasies” is clearly supposed to be a cheap laugh, so it’s hard to listen to more than once. And “Jennifer,” probably Malkmus’ first narrative song ever, boasts hilarious lyrics about dumb hippies—but Malkmus and linear storytelling don’t exactly go hand in hand.

From a musical standpoint, Stephen Malkmus is much better than any Pavement album. Die-hard fans may find the cultivated sound difficult to get used to, or may shrug it off completely as a poppy, emasculated version of a once-great band. But, beneath the clean shave and shoeshine, this is still Steve Malkmus, and he is still really, really good at kicking out the indie rock jams.