Yo La Tengo has always been a hard band to put a label on. Mainly because they’re all over the fucking place, putting sweet and melodic tunes next to epic guitar blow-outs. This has led many a critic to tar them as a sort of second coming of The Velvet Underground, another band that went from lovely to jarringly dissonant at the drop of that syringe Lou Reed used to pretend he was shooting up with on stage. But Yo La Tengo lacks the panache of VU, for one simple reason: no syringes. The trio looks anything but menacing, doesn’t make decadence its subject matter, and its members could easily pass for counselors at a youth summer camp. They lack the jaded and sordid stuff of which rock legends are made. They’re too… nice.
The question of whether this has hurt them career-wise is debatable, but one thing’s for sure—their eclecticism can be as maddening as it is happy-making. Is their next album going to be a friendly acoustic hello (Fakebook), a ramshackle series of covers performed in as half-assed a manner as possible (Yo La Tengo Is Murdering the Classics), or a series of blistering guitar assaults on your ear holes? Or, most likely, a little bit of both? I certainly don’t know. What I do know is that they’re one of the most consistently excellent bands in the land, producing great album after great album, both decadence and adherence to a strict formula be damned.
Hoboken’s Yo La Tengo—they’re Ira Kaplan on guitar, piano, and vocals; Georgia Hubley on drums, piano, and vocals; and James McNew on bass and vocals—have been around since 1984, although McNew didn’t come on board until 1992’s May I Sing With Me, on which he played on 9 of its 11 tracks. May I Sing With Me is, without a doubt, one of those LPs where they’re all over the place. Kaplan plays some of the most dissonant and adventurous guitar I’ve ever heard—“Mushroom Cloud of Hiss” comes close to equaling VU’s “I Heard Her Call My Name,” my touchstone when it comes to pure chaotic mad guitar genius—while the songs featuring Hubley on vocals are as sweet as shoo-fly pie. Okay, so maybe the LP is slanted towards noise, beautiful noise, and none of its songs are as lovely as the ones on 1990’s great Fakebook, but I’m a noise guy and simply can’t resist big dissonance, so of course I’m going to prefer May I Sing With Me.
“Detouring America With Horns” is a blatant case of false advertising as there isn’t a damned horn on the thing, but you won’t care because it’s as catchy as Ebola with its strummed guitar intro, which gets prettier as the song insinuates its way into your brain. And then, bingo, the drums come in and the body sings electric while Hubley and Kaplan croon in tandem and you just can’t go wrong with a melody that’s so right, so tight, so alright. As for “Upside-Down,” it’s an upbeat number that features Kaplan singing lead and Hubley contributing some lovely backing vocals, not to mention a very cool instrumental interlude that is better than Moby Dick, no offense to you Herman Melville. This is one fetching number, and the perfect lead-in to “Mushroom Clouds of Hiss,” which literally leaves me at a loss for words. It’s a dissonant rave-up from the get-go, what with Hubley beating the drums like a red-headed stepchild while Kaplan explores what H.P. Lovecraft would have called, were he still alive and a rock critic, the mountains of madness. Then Kaplan comes in on vocals and he’s distraught, really distraught, distraught to the point of delivering one of the greatest screams I’ve ever heard. And after that the dissonance levels are trebled, quadrupled, upped to the very limits of human endurance, before the song slowly, and I mean very slowly, bleeds out in blistering squalls of squawking feedback. Only to make a brief return, with the drums falling back in synch, and if this isn’t the woolliest slice of mayhem you’ve ever heard, I envy you.
Next up is “Swing for Life,” a slightly herky jerky and mid-tempo tune that features some hushed and deadpan vocals by Hubley that lead to some controlled feedback by Kaplan. Then come some more vocals which are followed by some more freaked-out super-strumming by Kaplan, after which the song ends and we’re confronted with “Five-Cornered Drone (Crispy Duck),” with its ringing guitar and great drumming by Hubley. The melody is nice, subtle but catching, and on it goes until Kaplan’s guitar takes center stage to manhandle the melody. Then he comes in on vocals to tell us nothing works out right, you try and you try but, so why not play some twisted guitar figures that get all tangled up before straightening them all out in a great flurry of dissonance and feedback that definitely crispies the duck.
“Some Kinda Fatigue” is another gallop from the starting gates, propelled by McNew and Hubley while Kaplan plays a great riff and sings, “I know it’s out there/One good reason/But I haven’t/Found/It yet!!” after which he launches into some sweet sonic mutilation on the guitar, which continues until an unfortunately early fade-out. The lovely “Always Something” is slow and heavy on the drum thump, and features Kaplan and Hubley swapping verses but singing the choruses together. McNew takes center stage for a brief instrumental, which is followed by some low-key feedback by Kaplan. “86-Second Blowout” is self-explanatory; a furious assault from the start, it features Kaplan on vocals and some really dissonant guitar. And then it’s over. As for “Out the Window,” it opens with a riff so heavy it will lead you to believe that Kaplan’s channeling Jimmy Page, after which Hubley plays some swinging drums while the duo sing, “Everything goes out the window/Watching you walk out the door.” Then Kaplan plays some more truly twisted feedback, before the whole band descends into chaos, only to fall back into lockstep, and I’ll be damned if Kaplan’s vocals don’t remind me of John Darnielle, while the chorus reminds me of classic X.
“Sleeping Pill” is a slow and appropriately somnolent tune, with Kaplan playing one very reverb-heavy guitar that rings with feedback like Orwell’s clock striking 13. The drumming is subdued; all you get is Kaplan slowly upping the ante on the distortion, something he does with the precision of a scientist. It rings, it reverberates, it’s the sound of slowly closing your eyes and going from one shade of black to another—maybe it’s a suicide attempt. Because it’s foreboding, all that ringing reverb—it’s the telephone you don’t dare pick up because you know who’s at the other end, and they mean you no good. As for album closer “Satellite,” it’s medium sprightly, with Hubley singing and McNew and a tambourine providing accompaniment, until the tune takes a turn toward the lovely as Hubley sings, “Wait for the day to go/The day to come” while Kaplan trails behind her singing, “Satellite.”
So there you have it. Yo La Tengo can do anything. They can do everything. And they do it all well. Why they’ve even produced history’s funniest music video, for the song “Sugarcube.” (“Does everyone remember the Foghat rule? Your fourth album should be double live.”) But be that as it may. I still think they’re nebbishy appearance has hurt them, but so what? They should be heard by everyone. Conduct this simple experiment; listen to their cover of Jonathan Richman’s “Roadrunner” and their song “Drug Test.” If Ira Kaplan’s guitar doesn’t blow you away, and Yo La Tengo’s songwriting doesn’t make you feel exultant and all-powerful, they’re probably not your band. If they do, you have lots of great music to look forward to, friend.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
