Dear Mark J. Mulcahy, I Love You served as the titular singer-songwriter’s return after a long, purposeful hiatus, and it stands as one of 2013’s stronger releases. Anybody harboring a passion for well-built tunes delivered with confidence and hints of eclecticism should look into its contents. And for those residing in the neighborhood of Washington DC, attending Mulcahy’s March 8th show at Sixth & I’s Historic Synagogue will very likely provide a fine evening out.
Often sweetest is the music that almost slipped through the cracks; a purchase made against fervent advice, the mysterious album received as a gift, an LP that messy ex-roommate accidentally left behind, a disc an acquaintance ardently insists deserves deep and immediate notice. Though it’s less than a year old, Dear Mark J. Mulcahy, I Love You solidly fits the bill for this writer.
I’ve been casually aware of Mark Mulcahy’s output for over half my life, but only very recently has it impacted me on a profound level. To elaborate, his ‘80s outfit Miracle Legion was a post-REM mainstay on college radio playlists of the era, but sadly dwelling beyond the reach of those stations’ wattage, I heard the group only infrequently.
My closest encounters came via ‘89’s “You’re the Ōne-Lee” single and the two cuts (one of them a cover of Mission of Burma’s “Acadamy Fight Song”) included on the soundtrack to the film A Matter of Degrees. To be succinct, Miracle Legion was one of numerous acts from this period that I intended on checking out further but never did.
In the ‘90s Mulcahy’s profile increased through Polaris, the house band for the children’s TV program The Adventures of Pete & Pete. I spent the ‘90s in my 20s without kids however, and I’ve yet to view an episode of that highly-regarded show. With ’97’s Fathering, Mulcahy began a solo career, but as stated above, until his latest the productivity escaped my radar.
And due to a rather lazy misapprehension I initially shied away from Dear Mark J. Mulcahy, I Love You. His first release since 2005, it was also his return to activity after the ‘08 death of his wife Melissa (the time was spent raising his twin daughters). This info, when combined with the title, found the admittedly kneejerk odds greatly in favor of the LP landing somewhere in the general proximity of the maudlin.
But while in transit last December I caught a few minutes of NPR’s Fresh Air that happened to be devoted to Mulcahy. It played just long enough to instill serious doubts over my original flimsy hypothesis and furthermore offered that Rick Moody, a novelist held in personal high esteem, rated Mulcahy’s effort as “among the very best records of 2013.”
It took a few more months, but finally catching up with the entirety of Dear Mark J. Mulcahy, I Love You revealed just how off the mark I actually was. Far from overly-emotive or burdened with sentiment, as its 11 songs unwind the lyrical heft is dark, witty, biting, and playful, sometimes alternately and occasionally all at once, as his tunes’ engagement with catchiness illuminates the skill of an experienced musician.
Mulcahy also possesses a veteran’s lack of hang-ups over influence. Right from the start “I Taketh Away” leaves no mystery over debts to the riff-primacy of the later-era Velvet Underground, though what he does with it is quite a bit more interesting than what’s been the recent norm. And it’s important to note that Miracle Legion’s debut EP “The Backyard” came out in 1984.
This lands Mulcahy squarely in an earlier generation of VU fandom, closer to Bowie (with “I Taketh Away” moderately resembling “Queen Bitch”) than to the many uninspired cover versions that have appeared over the last 20 years. He doesn’t just cop moves; he creates something fresh out of them. The cut’s crisp tension works exceptionally well with the toughness of the words (which express fatigue with religion, quote The Incredible Hulk and briefly lift directly from the Velvets) and the nervous, Jeff Buckley-ish quaver of Mulcahy’s voice.
It’s a terrific opener, though as Dear Mark J. Mulcahy, I Love You moves forward it displays a striking consistency and breadth of pop moves. For instance, “Everybody Hustles Leo” begins with a nicely distilled stadium-glam rock drum-line and quickly integrates some fairly woozy guitar strum. But it’s the acerbic tone of the lyrics, mildly reminiscent of early T-Bone Burnett (especially when giving portraiture to a predatory woman with a cocaine habit), that really drive the tune home.
Mulcahy is working expressly in singer-songwriter mode here, and though the specifics of his cult-status (amongst others, his high-profile fans include Mike Stipe, Frank Black, and Thom Yorke) securely place him in the indie milieu, his stuff is just as likely to please fans of Graham Parker and Elvis Costello as it is partisans of Sufjan Stevens and Ben Gibbard. This is made explicitly clear via the rockish mid-tempo and unexpected call-and-response of “She Makes the World Turn Backwards.”
Maybe it’s just the mention of frogs, but “Let the Fireflies Fly Away”’s detour into a humorous zone brought Robyn Hitchcock to mind, if only briefly. And while the asserting of this lighter touch doesn’t lend the LP its best material, it does assist it in avoiding a developing sense of bitterness. Plus, it also helps that Mulcahy’s humor lacks the preciousness or insufferable smartness bandied about by certain other indie practitioners.
And this extends to the disc’s instrumental touches as deftly mixed by long-serving New Englander Paul Kolderie. Rather than deliberately (and maddeningly) rinky-dink, the employment of flute on the enjoyably kooky (and somewhat Mountain Goats-esque) “He’s a Magnet” brings some welcome airy lilt to a track that’s nearly all riff. The result reminds me of Lou circa-Transformer.
Riffs are constant across Dear Mark J. Mulcahy, I Love You, in particular during the blossoming structure of “My Rose Colored Friend.” At their core, these songs could be performed on an acoustic at a house party. Well most of them, anyway; “Bailing Out on Everything Again,” a number mildly suggestive of Morrissey, is just vocals, electric keyboard and glockenspiel. It provides a touch of diversity, but it seems (at least in the context of this record) that Mulcahy is most comfortable with a guitar in his hands.
Both strings and sly (flute-like!) keyboard tones return for the excellent “Badly Madly,” while “Poison Candy Heart” registers like a FM radio staple (if not a singles chart hit) from the late-‘70s/early-‘80s. And “The Rabbit” finds Mulcahy at his most folkish as lap steel and organ creep into the equation, setting the table for closer “Where’s the Indifference Now?” Concerning the aftermath of a suicide, it connects like a well-thrown punch.
For much of the LP, Mulcahy resists tackling his themes head-on. Instead, like a strong literary novelist he chooses to handle them from varying angles, which is perhaps part of the reason Moody is so taken with the record. But with the final track, this auteur approaches the topic with sober clarity and emotional intensity, mingling anger and disgust at the responses, some trite others selfish, engendered by a life cut short.
The blackly humorous sha-la-las that arise midway through are the sort of additive only a great songwriter can pull off, and the achy cello that emerges afterward expertly adds to the piece’s effectiveness. “Where’s the Indifference Now?” serves as a powerful and suitably abrupt finale, and Dear Mark J. Mulcahy, I Love You is a lean and focused release emphasizing its creator’s range and strengths to superb effect.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got four other Mark Mulcahy albums to catch up on.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
