American Music Club The Golden Age by: Tom Hall Tue:19-Feb-08 Label: Merge Year: 2008 WB rating 70 out of 100

The Golden Age is San Francisco based American Music Club’s ninth album in 23 years. 23 years is a long time, and as such one feels a certain obligation to listen with a number of premeditated wordings in mind: ‘mature musicianship’, ‘perspective’, ‘developed sound’ seem necessary considerations for someone who’s introduction to this band comes so far down the line. You can’t help but feel like you shouldn’t step on toes. That they must know something you don’t. I think the word is ‘respect’.

But screw that. I got ears, and I got fingers, so here I go.

Firstly, this is a really good album. American Music Club have copped a lot of flak over the years for their lo-fi, lo-impact nature, yet the sound and style of singer/songwriter Mark Eitzel gently familiarises itself. Yet there is a place for the continued ‘soft’ criticism of the band, this album again veering too close to the easy listening clarity and polish of recent Pearl Jam, and elsewhere the sugar sweet overtones that come from years of experience in the studio softening ‘rock’ with harmonies and overdubbed melodies (see ‘The Victory Choir’).

Unsurprisingly then that American Music Club show an amazing amount of restraint throughout The Golden Age, choosing to augment and distort conventional song structure rather than simply painting over the top. This approach pays huge dividends at times, instilling tracks such as ‘The Sleeping Beauty’ and ‘All My Love’ with an imposing sense of confidence and authenticity. On the brooding track ‘The Stars’ we are treated to an endlessly enjoyable Pink Floyd homage, a track that plays like a forgotten composition from the years between The Wall and The Final Cut, down to the near-hidden distorted guitar reverb and gorgeous fretless bass hammer-on’s.

On ‘The Decibels and Little Pills’ – one of the album’s highlights – there emerges an intriguing facet of the band, a certain impalpable heaviness which has a distinct hint of Fugazi circa The Argument. While the two bands are sonically miles apart, they share much in that beneath a surface of crisp production and dynamic restraint there pulses the throbbing strength of passionate aggression, a forcefulness which experience has taught them to temper and understate to great affect. Again, on alt-country banger ‘I Know That’s Not Really You’, we are treated to an outstanding example of Eitzel’s splendid ability to express a beaten yet triumphant humanism, complemented spectacularly by gorgeous, economical flourishes of lead guitar riffs, and waltzing horns.

Unfortunately, there are a number of lowlights that heavily distract the listener, especially on initial listens. Sleepers such as the tedious closer ‘The Grand Duchess of San Francisco’ highlight the downside of veteran confidence: a flagging talent for self-editing. This patchiness exists outside of the song structure and production, and lingers over sections of the album like an energy sapping miasma. There are certain other awkward and clumsy moments in sections of numerous songs, such as the overtly wordy ‘The Windows on the World’, and these flabby attempts tempt one to re-evaluate the highlights. Yet Eitzel’s inability to convince us to empathise with the tragedy of the characters in his songs is a minor shortcoming in a formidable talent. While he may not successfully portray the sadness and vulnerability of his protagonists with the economy and subtlety of Lennon, Vedder or Adam Duritz (at their best), these downsides never overwhelm or disorientate the listener in such a way as to impose a heavy sense of mediocrity over the greater work. As such, we emerge from these moments relatively unscathed, and are able to continue the frequent and highly enjoyable flourishes of honest lyricism and musical flair with ease.

The most common criticism of this band is that they seem to produce albums which play like irrelevant documents, neither contemporary and catchy nor retrospective enough to buzz with the familiarity of a freshly revived sonic fad. And while there may be some credence to this summation, such a simplistic dismissal speaks far more of the current obsession with immediate categorization, and the over-valued nature of praise for ‘clever’ historicism, and the over-referential fad’s which have bombarded the music lover throughout the 2000’s.

As we enter the next wave of Retro/World/Indie/Afro-Pop music, championed by bands such as Yeasayer and Vampire Weekend and the inevitable ones to follow with varying success, an album by a band like American Music Club will be become harder and harder to justify. The shame in this is that the standout tracks will not get the appreciation they deserve, and that the excellent composition, production and maturity displayed on the often gorgeous The Golden Age will be forced to occupy a No Mans Land populated by the many artistic expressions composed free of buzz and hyper-relevant self-awareness, at the cost of sheer song writing talent and impressive workmanship.