Anybody who’s partaken in the reissue catalogs of Collectors’ Choice Music and Real Gone Music has Gordon Anderson to thank, as he headed-up the former and co-founded the latter. But he’s also a guitarist, a singer, and a songwriter of considerable ability, as evidenced by his first album, Moon Man, which is out on CD July 10 through, wouldn’t you know it, Real Gone Music. For a guy who returned such a wide range of styles to circulation, his own stuff is quite focused, as post-Byrds jangle and Crazy Horse-informed big guitar moves get combined with rawness and heft that’s reminiscent of early indie rock, both instrumentally and emotionally. After a few spins, it grows into a stone killer.
Moon Man, so titled due to a nickname bestowed upon Anderson at summer camp as a kid, is an album defined by remembrance, but it’s also record collector rock of the best sort, with its opening track covering both aspects at once as it illuminates the life-altering impact the Columbia House Record Club had on Anderson in his youth.
You might know the story, possibly from first-hand experience: seven albums, all for only a buck (with a few more to buy at regular price later). In “Record Club,” Anderson was 12 years old as he came under the spell of rock music on vinyl. His picks included Band of Gypsies, Deep Purple, and Bread, selections that he describes as transforming him into a “rock & roll animal,” fittingly swiping the title of a famed record as Anderson speaks of a personal collection that grew to 1,000s of LPs and CDs (he still has and values those records he got in the mail in 1973).
“Record Club” works effectively as a statement of purpose and sets the instrumental tone for what follows, with Anderson welcoming Kathryn Korniloff of Two Nice Girls as both a player and co-producer. Featuring Fender Telecaster, prominent bass and cracking rhythms, the sound launches from a classic foundation with left-of-the-dial edge, as exemplified by the country-rockish jangling of “Funemployment,” a cut that also establishes Anderson as a bold and appealingly ragged singer.
While a lot of college rock, u-ground rock, alt-rock, and indie rock spotlights vocalists either with a case of the chronic mumbles (a post-Stipe thing) or having been deliberately lowered in the mix, Anderson is fully upfront and wields considerable range, particularly across “In Turnaround,” where he moves from conversational to belting to taking a few gulps in a higher register, all while reminding me in spots of Ian Curtis fleeing Manchester to front some hyperactive jangle band in a university town in early ’80s heartland USA.
More to the point, Anderson’s singing is mildly reminiscent of Mark Edwards, an undeservedly obscure figure who recorded in the ’80s and early ’90s under the moniker My Dad Is Dead, his music and vocals also sometimes compared to Joy Division. Anderson is far less of a post-punk disciple however, with “Pill Mill” flaunting the Crazy Horse influence cited above. Lyrically, the track delves into struggles with addiction hinted at in the previous song.
As a singer, Anderson also swaggers a tad like Tom Verlaine (a similarity occasionally extending to the instrumentation) and is simultaneously a rough-toned descendant of Neil, bringing another Young-influenced indie guy, Eleventh Dream Day’s Rick Rizzo, to mind (I said he had range). And as heard in “Pillar of Flame,” there’s zest that’s a bit akin to John Darnielle, though Anderson’s far less take-it-or-leave-it at the microphone.
Flush with robust guitar moves capped by a stinging solo, “Pillar of Flame” contrasts with the folkish strumming of “Palm Reader,” though in a short interval it becomes substantially cosmic and then powerfully crescendos (there’s a lyrical earthquake and a bad dream). Next is the catchy “Call of Spring,” which inspires thoughts of Hoboken but with an anthemic chorus subtly gesturing toward ’90s alt-rock.
“Pinpricks” nods to Young again, but it’s nearer to Neil in solo mode, and with a recurring flourish that suggests Mayo Thompson of all people (it’s a sweet little flash of avant-pop) before the whole thing redirects into the rainy day early ’70s soft-pop zone (like something you might’ve grabbed from Columbia House Record Club).
“Glazed Antique” shifts to the instrumentally sprightly as Anderson turns up the confessionalism a few notches, and then “Shotgun Wedding” begins with a blend of country-rock twang and vocals that conjure visions of an unreleased Barry Gibb session for Asylum Records, all before transforming into a muscular rocker a la Aussie Michael Beach’s Golden Theft and Malkmus circa Pig Lib.
And this is where Moon Man really kicks into high gear, as “Shotgun Wedding” bleeds right into “Siren Song.” That one has vibes suggesting Crazy Horse in their “Down By the River”/ “Cowgirl in the Sand” mode, with a swell tangle of wicked soloing. In short, it rolls like a record by a guy who cherishes records, and who made this one with enthusiasm.
Interestingly, it’s “Siren Song” where the lyrics take a turn toward the contemporary, but without any letdown. Entering the home stretch, “Rose Parade” is an utter jangle fest offset with some of Anderson’s raspiest (but elated) singing, as “Drumroll Please” commences like Neil once more but ends nearer to one of those recently reissued demos by America, which is an against-the-odds swank move.
“Already Gone” takes a deep dip into recollection one last time, sounding like something Mitch Easter might’ve produced in the mid-’80s, except more rocking instrumentally, like a nugget from the late Tommy Keene, perhaps. It’s a solid finale to a record that inspires an abundance of comparisons, though vocally and topically, Anderson finesses the whole with the personal. For anyone who dually loves classic rock and subterranean sounds, Moon Man is a delightful ride. I’m only hoping it eventually gets pressed to vinyl, as it’d sound splendid on the format.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
