Robert Pollard has achieved a minor level of sobriety – he wasn’t blind drunk by the end of Guided By Voices’ endlessly infectious show at L.A.’s Teragram Ballroom last Saturday night – and perhaps a sense of clarity.
He took a moment to scoff at the memory from 20 years ago of Matador Records urging him to go to the label’s version of the Betty Ford Clinic. “Fuck that,” he spat. “I’m going to the motherfuckin’ Rock 'n’ Roll Hall of Fame.” He quickly laughed at such a ridiculous thought. The little band from Dayton, Ohio, that probably couldn’t get a letter to the editor printed in Rolling Stone, let alone get the nod from Jann Wenner to enter the pantheon.
Thirty years on, Pollard powers Guided By Voices the
only way he knows how: by riffling
through dozens of songs that barely scratch the surface of all the great tunes
he has written over that time – more quality songs than Lennon and McCartney
(separately or combined), and Harrison, too, or whoever else you want to throw
out. Lyrics and hooks have poured out of him nonstop for three decades,
starting with the wisps of REM knock-offs to his mid-'90s heyday (with a trilogy of perfect albums) and through to
the band’s umpteenth release, this past spring’s “Please Be Honest,” on which,
“McCartney”-like, he plays all the instruments, a back-to-basics movement (and, finally, a needed break from producer/collaborator Todd Tobias). Pollard also has retooled the touring band – crucially bringing back the talent and discipline
of lead guitarist Doug Gillard. With
that tweak of America’s great pop band, Pollard has also shaken up his
set-list, digging deep into that voluminous catalog, as if to prove his case
before the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame Committee.
The show was a Deep Cuts version of the band’s
concert persona. Instead of “Pop Zeus” (from solo effort “Speak Kindly …”) he pumped up “Do
Something Real.” Instead of “Chasing Heather Crazy” (“Isolation Drills”) he
went with “Fair Warning.” Instead of
“Bulldog Skin” (“Mag Earwhig”), he dug deep for “Not Behind the Fighter Jets.”
Instead of “Everywhere With Helicopter” (“Universal Truths and Cycles”), there was "Back to the Lake." From a 2006 solo release he shunned "Dancing Girls and Dancing Men" for a heartfelt "Love Is Stronger Than Witchcraft." He has shelved, for now, pop gems like "The Best of Jill Hives," "My Valuable Hunting Knife," "Postal Blowfish" and "Jar of Cardinals." At least one-third of the songs were from the comeback era, 2012 to the present, expertly woven in with the old hits, so as not to sap the energy of the crowd.
Pollard paid homage to the band's heritage -- he flashed a few high kicks and microphone twirls for old times' sake -- while sending a clear message that his newer songs matter and he's not ready to become an oldies act. He's proud of his output the past five years. He spotlighted side projects like Boston Spaceships ("Tabby and Lucy" was a highlight) and Ricked Wicky (about which Pitchfork notes in Pollard "a renewed sense of purpose"). He gave it his all on new material that promises to launch sing-alongs someday -- choruses like "Come back to me, my zodiac companion" from this year's release. And the crowd in L.A. was made up of just as many millennials (chanting along to the anthems) as geezers. GBV is not ready to be set in amber in the alt version of the Rock Hall.
Pollard has long been a frustrated arena rocker. (He closed one encore with their familiar cover of The Who's "Baba O'Reilly.") The last band he put together before the 2004 farewell tour was way too muscular for the clubs the band never grew out of, and too often the band cranked the noise up to 11 just because they could. Here, too, the band tested the limits of the venue’s speaker system; songs from “Bee Thousand” and “Alien Lanes” (the ultimate pop gem “Echoes Myron” and the anthemic “Game of Pricks,” for example) lost any semblance of lo-fi nuance and were blasted at the crowd, almost to the point of distortion at times. Gillard and drummer Kevin March, with his prodigious thuds and snaps, are back from the turn-of-the-millennium backing quartet.
For better and worse, Pollard has reclaimed Guided by Voices from his youthful mates, in particular Tobin Sprout, who was the Paul/George to his domineering John. Gone is the subtle sweetness of Sprout's minor-key workouts. This is full-on power pop that borrows from a range of genres, from '60s freak beat to '70s prog rock to '90s lo-fi (amped up to hi-fi).
Sprout used to sing of "this awful bliss." Pollard has dropped the qualifier. He's living in the moment while celebrating his legacy, and he's putting on the best shows of his career. This -- this is bliss.
BONUS TRACK
I could unleash a torrent of videos. Let's just begin and end it with the infectious concert staple, "Teenage FBI" from 1999's "Do the Collapse." Pogo along with the crowd.
Pollard has long been a frustrated arena rocker. (He closed one encore with their familiar cover of The Who's "Baba O'Reilly.") The last band he put together before the 2004 farewell tour was way too muscular for the clubs the band never grew out of, and too often the band cranked the noise up to 11 just because they could. Here, too, the band tested the limits of the venue’s speaker system; songs from “Bee Thousand” and “Alien Lanes” (the ultimate pop gem “Echoes Myron” and the anthemic “Game of Pricks,” for example) lost any semblance of lo-fi nuance and were blasted at the crowd, almost to the point of distortion at times. Gillard and drummer Kevin March, with his prodigious thuds and snaps, are back from the turn-of-the-millennium backing quartet.
For better and worse, Pollard has reclaimed Guided by Voices from his youthful mates, in particular Tobin Sprout, who was the Paul/George to his domineering John. Gone is the subtle sweetness of Sprout's minor-key workouts. This is full-on power pop that borrows from a range of genres, from '60s freak beat to '70s prog rock to '90s lo-fi (amped up to hi-fi).
Sprout used to sing of "this awful bliss." Pollard has dropped the qualifier. He's living in the moment while celebrating his legacy, and he's putting on the best shows of his career. This -- this is bliss.
BONUS TRACK
I could unleash a torrent of videos. Let's just begin and end it with the infectious concert staple, "Teenage FBI" from 1999's "Do the Collapse." Pogo along with the crowd.
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