1999 marked a decade of existence for indie lynchpins Superchunk; it was also the year they traveled to the Windy City from North Carolina’s Research Triangle to record at Electrical Audio with producer Jim O’Rourke. The resulting album was their most ambitious to that point, offering continued maturation boosted by expertly applied strings and horns. Having aged like a round of fine cheddar, Come Pick Me Up has been deservedly reissued on LP/CD by Merge Records with eight bonus tracks on the download.
Across the span of our current century I’ve made the acquaintance of a few Superchunk fans harboring reservations over the nature of Come Pick Me Up’s 13 tunes. But while I was initially caught off-guard by the boldness of the stylistic leap, it didn’t take long for it to grow significantly in individual esteem. Part of the reason was extra-musical; after spending roughly ten years in the company of their steadily growing discography my 30s were beckoning.
Therefore Superchunk’s transition fell easily into personal synch, but likely came far too late for those who registered their precise honing of no-nonsense catchiness and post-hardcore intensity as an affront to the supposed time-honored practice of striving for the Big Brass Ring. As the flagship act on Merge, the long-serving label formed by the group’s vocalist/guitarist Mac McCaughan and bassist Laura Ballance, they unswervingly traversed an independent path and developed at their own chosen speed.
The progression might’ve been gradual, but their oeuvre amassed quickly and the maintenance of their sound was refreshing. Listening chronologically reveals refinement in the balancing of melody and heaviness as they impressively adapted a wide range of cover material into what became a signature approach; in ’94 Superchunk attained a peak with the outstanding Foolish.
Did I write that I was initially struck by Come Pick Me Up? Make that immediately struck; opener “So Convinced” bursts out of the gate as Jon Wurster’s rhythms are enveloped in a decidedly technological ambiance. It’s new territory to be sure, though Ballance’s bass rumble is as reliable as ever as Mac continues a hone his falsetto, a then recent tendency interestingly overlapping with the same motif from his Merge mate Kurt Wagner on Lampchop’s ’98 LP What Another Man Spills.
Near the end of “So Convinced” the pace rapidly increases, essentially achieving a hardcore tempo amid keyboard/synth reverberations and guitar so sharp it could shave tough whiskers. It leads directly into “Hello Hawk,” which at the outset steers closer to Superchunk’s norms; there’s even a strumming acoustic behind the rock heft a la early single “Breadman.”
But the whistling sound accompanying the first chorus portends considerable change to come, and the entrance of strings shortly thereafter, namely Fred Lonberg-Holm on cello and Suzanne Roberts on violin, is a gorgeous surprise. Firepower is diminished not a whit however, as the catgut returns for the instrumental denouement in tandem with Ken Vandermark’s saxophone, Bob Weston’s trumpet, and Mac and Laura’s ex-Metal Pitcher bandmate Jeb Bishop’s trombone.
Of course, these strides didn’t appear out of thin air, but on Here’s Where the Strings Come In the keyboard arrives (in what I persist in thinking as a jocular touch) at the end of the disc’s final song. And while the retro synth additives showed up sooner in Indoor Living’s sequence, the placement of “So Convinced” as opener made plain Superchunk’s palette was widening substantially. This makes total sense with O’Rourke at the helm; alongside production duties he also contributed string and horn arrangements.
The upbeat “Cursed Mirror” possesses fine qualities, specifically in the departments of guitar, backing vocals, and lyrics, and I quite enjoy how the focus momentary switches to acoustic prior to everyone kicking back in. Also notable is the attention to sonic detail across the duration and particularly during the drawn-out bit of electricity at the end. Indeed, the twin axes of Mac and Jim Wilbur resonate strongly throughout Come Pick Me Up; “1000 Pounds” brandishes sweet guitar flourishes as the singing blends agreeably with Roberts’ violin.
Altogether a fairly typical Chunk scenario gets an infusion of the unpredictable. “Good Dreams” is the album’s unabashed blazer, and one additionally layered with subtle production shifts. The vocal hits the right level of emotionalism in the verses and pushes that upper register on the chorus as the whole shebang is capped with a slick mix of amp roar and finessed wordless vocals.
“Low Branches” wields a slower tempo and presents a smart tinkering of the band’s established aptitude for tension and release. Wurster whacks the bejeezus out of his skins and the brief closing guitar flurry has always reminded me of Pavement circa “Perfect Sound Forever.” From there, “Pink Clouds” showcases top-flight lyrics as distortion mingles with clean jangle, the attack trimmed by jazz heavyweights Bishop and Vandermark and ex-Volcano Sun/current Shellac and Mission of Burma member Weston hitting a groove in the general vicinity of E Street.
Reminiscent of the less breakneck tunes located on the latter half of Foolish, “Smarter Hearts” confidently brings it down, the tenderness of voice a pleasurable wrinkle carried over into the next track; enduring as a true standout, “Honey Bee” highlights notable collective skill well-served by studio techniques strengthening the dynamism.
Again, the serrated amplifier gnaw at the finale is an utter treat, standing amongst my favorite little Superchunk micro-moments. And like the storm-bringers its title suggests, “June Showers” darkens the mood as Ballance’s foreboding bass tips-off the change in tone. It’s an atmosphere maintained largely through the toughness of the words, but the striking tenseness of O’Rourke’s writing for strings reinforces it.
Contrasting is “Pulled Muscle,” which features playful lyrics and recalls the best Indoor Living. Penultimate cut “Tiny Bombs” ushers in a more relaxed and spacious phase, reaching heights of quiet emotionalism stripped down to only falsetto and a gentle guitar pulse before the band adroitly reemerges led by Mac’s flailing solo and O’Rourke’s layered handclaps and threads of technology.
Closing with self-deprecating melancholy forecasting 2000’s Here’s to Shutting Up, the supremely achy “You Can Always Count on Me (In the Worst Way)” sees them firing on full cylinders as horn surges help to bring it all home. And in no way did Superchunk retreat from the progress found here, though as said the breadth of the following record examines a tangible weariness to fruitful result; it culminates their pre-hiatus work on a solid note.
They’ve since came back in full force, except with an attractive maturity along with frequent gestures to predecessors and contemporaries; when not issuing a single with titles paying homage to a certain classic spilt LP on the Dischord label and covering Lodi, NJ horror rockers the Misfits, Beantown teetotalers SS Decontrol, and UK grindcore maniacs Bananarama, they often brandish a power pop edge.
But I’ll freely fess to Come Pick Me Up being my preferred Superchunk long-player. This reissue’s bonus acoustic and demo numbers are a tasty side dish and the liner essays by Ballance and the Chicago Reader’s Peter Margasak are illuminating, but as is the case with any truly worthy archival release, the original program remains the meat of the matter.
The Merge website quotes McCaughan recollecting an article where O’Rourke mentioned Come Pick Me Up as an attempt to make a two month record in two weeks. While the statement seems like a slight, it’s surely preferable to the inverse; that is, a two week record stretched out over two months via dysfunction or a dearth of ideas. After six albums Superchunk weren’t coasting; to the contrary, their seventh pushed into territory that to this day sounds fresh, edgy, and fleetingly beautiful.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
