Parties that you don't want to be at suck. It's not fun when your life starts to feel stagnant. It's kind of weird when your girlfriend suddenly gets blown from the face of the Earth. It's just annoying when your friend borrows your copy of Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska and when you go over to get it, she's having sex with her boyfriend and they don't even bother to put their clothes on. It's strange spending New Year's Eve alone in a strange city. The end of the world/apocalypse isn't going to be fun. "Happiness is such hard work, and it gets harder every day". It's not enjoyable, having bad memories. Having superpowers that you don't want, that's a curse. What does it even feel like to be a spider in the snow? If you don't know, then your life must be perfect. Which is probably a lie.
These truths were proudly brandished through the Dismemberment Plan's 90's career, admitting things that not a lot of other people could. But instead of filtering these sentiments through hushed indie pop confessionals (which seems probable, without hearing any of the music), the Dismemberment Plan offered some of the most inventive instrumentation, drawing from the D.C. punk of their hometown, but also hip-hop, Braniac, and R&B. This all came together perfectly on their classic third album, Emergency & I. Then, for 2001's Change, the band smoothed out their prickly edges, focused on more lush and expansive songs, and lead singer Travis Morrison all abandoned his MC-like vocal delivery.
With the release of Change, it seemed that the possibilities were endless for the Dismemberment Plan, but in 2003, they closed shop, just feeling tired and stalled out. It was a quiet break-up, no fights or hard feelings, no guitars thrown at other band members (looking at you, Black Francis). So, us fans were left with two perfect albums, but no band behind them. Bassist Eric Axelson formed the band Maritime, before deciding to teach an English class, guitarist Jason Caddell became a sound engineer in the D.C. area, drummer Joe Easly works at NASA, and Travis Morrison attempted at a solo career, before being berated by critics, and retired from music to sing in a church choir and work with Huffington Post. But then in 2007, the band reunited for some shows, one thing led to another, they played the Roots Picnic and Pitchfork, teased new recordings and now we've come to 2013, with the release of their long-awaited fifth album, Uncanney Valley.
From the first song, "No One's Saying Nothing", it's tempting to remove the head phones and forget you purchased the LP. This is mostly Morrison's fault, as he sings a line like "you hit the space bar enough, and cocaine comes out, I really like this computer!" over an otherwise formidable, Christmas carroll channeling backing track. This isn't the Dismemberment Plan from Emergency & I and Change and not even of "!" and The Dismemberment Plan Is Terrified, with Morrison throwing out corny jokes and tangents that don't do him or the songs much justice. But then you remember that it has been over a decade. Morrison is no longer alone in an apartment in D.C., but happily married, living in Park Slope.It has been twelve years since Change and fourteen since Emergency & I and even when Uncanney Valley falters, it still feels like a logical step for the band as a whole. It's the first Plan album to have a keyboard in every song, and other forms of electronic instrumentation are prevalent throughout. Synth keys stab through "White Collar White Trash" as Morrison sings of the gentrification of D.C., similar to ...Is Terrified's "Academy Award". "Mexico City Christmas" rides a shuffling beat and organ with one of the album's catchiest choruses ("so pull out the wires and shoot out the lights / 'cause I'm lost in a dream and I can't breathe at these heights / hyyyyeeeeeiiiiiiooooo, hyyyyeeeeeiiiiiiooooo!)
As previously mentioned, Morrison is now married, and his feelings for his wife can dominate the album. Even when it does get cheesy, you can't help but be happy for him, because on numerous other Plan albums, his luck with love isn't great ("Come Home" and "Face of the Earth" from Change), as he acknowledges on "Lookin'" when he sings "I'm lucky that you love me, because my luck isn't that great", and the sentiment is sweet. On the triumphant closer "Let's Just Go to the Dogs Tonight", rattles off a bunch of cutesy couplets ("I can be the sugar you can be the cream", "I can be the salt, you can be the lime") but it's such an earnest testament to not caring about anything else, that it works. Which is why I shouted along to "when I say 'cluster' you say 'fuck', cluster fuck!" at their recent concert at New York's Terminal 5.
Of course, there seem to be some growing pains. The Plan has had a reputation for somewhat useless songs, yet with the cohesiveness of their past albums, those songs deserved their place. But Uncanney Valley is definitely the least cohesiveness of the Plan's albums, which happens to be one of it's downsides. "Go and Get It" does manage to show off the super-human rhythm section Axelson and Easly (it was rumored that Easly's drums on Change's "The Other Side" were sped up, because no one could drum that fast. Easly can.), but beneath it's stadium stomp and grandeur, there's nothing to hold onto. "Daddy Was a Real Good Dancer" features Caddell's serpentining guitar and some interesting ideas of familial sacrifices that must be made, but it's bogged down by it's redundancy and pop-country tendencies.
When it comes down to it, the songs that sound more similar to Change and Emergency & I, are in fact the best songs on the whole album. "Living in Song" manages to capture the feelings of "The City" over some unorthodox percussion as Morrison sings "I hear you whistle through my neighborhood every night, and it makes me wonder if you're really doing alright." "Invisible", undeniably the album's strongest moment, manages to capture big city anxiety ("waiting around for the 7 express / New York was a bet / Queens was a guess / I thought I'd be working in Midtown, a winner / instead I'm biting my nails and calling it dinner"), loneliness ("snow on the window of the taxi back home / I just sit back and turn off my phone") and depression ("invisible, yeah that's me") all over tense guitars and sampled strings. "Waiting" shows off a potential future for the Plan, a successful blend of the keyboard based instrumentation, and Morrison's impressive lyricism. The song begins with a sampled horn fanfare, before the squiggly synth kicks in (and stays for the duration of the song) as Morrison weaves a story of meeting an ex in a bar, hoping to rekindle the relationship but then realizing it's a pointless endeavor ("you know I'd give my life for you, for promises that won't come true").
It seems as if comebacks are now measured in necessity, and for a good reason. The revamped Pavement from a couple years ago only played a handful of shows before disappearing again, and it was clear that they still hated each other. The same reason the Pixies didn't feel like the Pixies on Trompe le Monde was because there was no Kim Deal, and it's the same for last month's EP-1. But there's been an impressive amount of bands that have proved that they still have something to say after a prolonged period of time, and the Dismemberment Plan fall into this category, along with Superchunk, Sebadoh and Dinosaur Jr. And even the most hardcore fans can't dismiss this record, because it's till the good ol' Plan. All their musical idiosyncrasies are still present, just much more laid back. Emergency & I was the crisis, and when the anxiety reached a boiling point. Change was the aftermath, trying to live off past events. So twelve years later, Uncanney Valley is the feel-good record, and there hasn't been one by the Dismemberment Plan yet.
It feels quite necessary.
The Dismemberment Plan - Uncanney Valley
7.5/10
Recommended Tracks - "Waiting", "Invisible", "Living in Song", "Mexico City Christmas", "Let's Just Go to the Dogs Tonight"
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