Guided by Voices
Artist Website: robertpollard.net
Alien Lanes
There they go. They've taken a baby step towards sounding like professionals. Still sounding homemade, but coming to the realization that some folks want to actually be able to hear the music they purchase, GBV have attempted to clean up the quality of their recording just a little bit. There's still plenty of hiss and canned sound, but some of the harmonies and guitar can actually be heard and enjoyed amongst the background noise. This album didn't leave my five-disc player rotation for at least six months, as my windowless, brick-lined Third Ave. apartment in Manhattan rang with the sounds of joyous Brit (by way of Ohio) guitar pop. This, due to timing and just flat out fun, is my favorite GBV album. Sure, it's a little crazy at 27 tracks (even though all but six of them are under two minutes), but it's hard to listen to this thing and not just absolutely fall in love with music. I dare you.

Bee Thousand
Ah, here's the album that Propeller and Vampire on Titus promised to deliver! Granted, the horrible sound quality still drives me mad at times, but what the hell do I expect? I don't want glossy or anything, but if they could keep the tracking from going from one ear to the other in what sound more like a mic outage than an intentional mistake, I would be less irritable about it. The band swings wildly between pop rock barrages and gently strummed acoustic folksy songs (some of which sound a bit like latter-day Beck), which certainly keeps the album from sounding samey-samey. There are just so many good unfinished and crappily recorded hits on this thing that you just wish would bust forth with some real umph. Like "Gold Star for Robot Boy," for instance, which is a great little pop song just sits behind this wall of mute, where it could really bust out and rock hard if only someone wanted it to. It's a little frustrating, honestly, in some instances. It's funny, though, as on later albums when they dared to actually spend a couple dollars on recording equipment that fans all but rioted.

Do the Collapse
I must admit that I heard "Teenage FBI" on the radio about a week before this album came out and was waiting like a slobbering dog for it. Granted, I was like the only GBV fan who thought it was a good song. I'm sure most heard the Ric Ocasek Weezer-like keyboard flourishes in the background and almost tossed their lunches. So, of course, they put this track first on the album--an album that was supposed to be their major label debut, but turned into another one of those rejected records thrown to the dustbin of history. It's obvious after the second song on the record why. I'm not even sure what's happening here. It became really obvious on this album in particular that Pollard had been getting by on charm for a little while. If one of his songs was boring or kinda sucked, the homemade sound and tape blips and bloops covered the weak writing with charm and homemade fun. Now, in bright shining Technicolor, the warts are showing. The songs just aren't that interesting in the cold pale light of day. Sorry, man, it just ain't you.

earthquake glue Earthquake Glue
This is oddly a bit of a return to form of sorts. Again, Pollard dials it back (to the future), and comes away with an album that sounds more complete and album-like than anything he's practically ever done. There are less individual hits on this one than on some others, but rather a set of comprehensive tunes that comprise an actual album. I don't really pay that much attention to lyrics, but at least a couple of these sound like they're not complete nonsense. A nice, mature playlist of songs for an aging rocker who doesn't need one--at least for now.

Half Smiles of the Decomposed
I like it! It's been a while since I've actually tapped my toe and/or bobbed the old head to a GBV song. And here you go. Sure, it's not Alien Lanes or anything, but it'snot only a decent swipe at getting back to what made that old GBV stuff good, but a nice place to bow out. This, the last GBV album (at least until Pollard changes his mind) is just another wink at why it's cool to be a rock 'n' roller.

isolation drills Isolation Drills
That's a little more like it. After the debacle that was Do the Collapse, Isolation Drills gets back to the big rock sound. See, this was what I was talking about with some of those older albums. Why couldn't they have used this recording technique for some of those classic songs and really blown the doors of the place? It's not the slick Ocasek stuff, but it certainly adds some punch to the songs without making them sound overproduced and un GBV-like. This doesn't have the most memorable songs (in fact, I only really remember one, "Chasing Heather Crazy") but it's a solid, but rather downcast, record nonetheless. It's their, uh, Exile on Main Street. Whatever.

Mag Earwhig!
For some reason the first song on this album reminds me of that terrible King Missile song, "Detachable Penis." I'm probably the only person who thinks that, and luckily that nonsense doesn't continue. One of the best songs on the album (and no doubt one of the best GBV songs ever) is "I am a Tree," which was written by Pollards new bandmate Doug Gillard. In fact, when I saw one of their shows, Pollard said, "Here's one I wish a wrote" right before breaking into the song (complete with flying kicks and beer swigging). Almost equally as good is "Bulldog Skin," which Pollard did write. It's a rollicking rock song that feels like he should be playing a bar in Texas complete with Bud bottles and a pair of cowboy boots or two. It's GBV's answer to "Keep Your Hands to Yourself." There's some good stuff on this album, but nothing quite matches their early output. It's not that it's worse or anything, just different.

Propeller
Sigh. This is going to be a pretty crazy undertaking, going through GBV's entire discography (or at least the one's I own). This debut starts it off with a blast of Brit-tinged fuzzy guitar rock. 1992, the height of grunge, saw a lot of bands pouring on the weepy testosterone (if such a thing exists), but here was a band with anthematic aspirations. They write cheery pop songs and throwback tunes that recall everything you'd find in any cool parent's LP collection. Granted, this is an arena rock band on a shoestring, recording on old equipment in a garage. I've forgotten over the years how really good this record is. What a way to start it off!

Sunfish Holy Breakfast

Under the Bushes Under the Stars
Whoa there. Who is this? Apparently this is Kim Deal of the Pixies' idea of what GBV should sound like (as she produced the album). I may actually go back on my word and ask for the fuzz back. This sound is too big for these guys. The thumping bass drum threatens to drown out everything and overwhelm the songwriting somehow. It calms down a little bit after the first couple of songs, but it's funny to hear GBV in full stereo. I guess it wouldn't be such a shock if this was any other band, but that being their shtick, it's funny to hear anything else. There are a bunch of good songs on this album, but the production and playing makes them sound more lumbering, rather than the nimble pop snippets that they were on previous efforts. I think part of it was Pollard tinkering with his songwriting, trying to flesh out concepts and song structure. It kind of works and fails at the same time.

Universal Truths and Cycles
GBV has subtly moved back into a lo-fi groove. Granted, it's not all tape hiss and broken songs, but even this album's best song, "Cheyenne," has an echo effect on it that smacks of understatement. So I guess lo-fi isn't the thing, but it's a subtle move to situate themselves back in the little band making big sounds category of which they were once kings. GBV is like the kids' Who, and Pollard is its Townsend (or is it Daltrey?) He's just doing his thing here, and trying to entertain.

Vampire on Titus
They really dial up the lo-fi on this one. Some of the songs sound as if they were recorded in Robert Pollard's shower, and are mere snippets of songs. Reminiscent of earlier Sebadoh or its side-project sister Sentridoh, a lot of these songs feel like rough edits of ideas of songs and not really songs themselves. I tend to like Propeller a little more than this one, just because the fidelity on this is so low I have trouble hearing any melody in anything. I know it's intentional, but sometimes too much fuzz and hiss is just too much. There are certainly some cool songs on this album, and even more kernels of pieces of tunes that could have been something if Pollard didn't get bored half way through and move on to the next ten songs he was writing.


Musical Connections:
Airport 5
The Breeders
Chavez
Fig. 4
Robert Pollard
Tobin Sprout
Swearing at Motorists
More on Mr. Hipster
booze & grub surveyBooze & Grub
Reviews of New York City's most popular (and least popular) bars and restaurants.
moviesHipster Movie Reviews
Enjoy the rantings as Mr. Hipster proves he slept through his film criticism courses in college.
booksHipster Book Reviews
This much ignorance about literature can only lead to hurt feelings and a whole lot of nonsense.