Grandaddy Under The Western Freeway by: Steve Scully Mon:21-May-07 Label: Will Records Year: 1997 WB rating 75 out of 100

In a world of over-produced pop and over-conceptualised rock ‘n’ roll revivals, it’s always nice to hear something that’s a bit off-kilter, and Grandaddy are on this wave-length. This year, bands like The Verve, once underground-ish, shoegazing dream pop, have come out and blown the pop charts apart with their ‘new sound’. But is it really ‘new’ or just pottering about with old riffs?

Grandaddy aren’t above all this, and on Under The Western Freeway there is a significant amount of retrospective sound-checking. But while Under The Western Freeway may not be groundbreaking, it can still be seen as fresh, as Jason Lytle, doing his best Neil Young impression, leads the group through what is essentially an adaptation, a re-location of perhaps anachronistic ideals to modern-day culture. The simplicity of the past is evoked throughout Grandaddy’s escapist balladry and pop-referential radio-friendly pieces, and further elucidated by their rather ironic adoption of electronic beats and synth ambience.

There is a diversity of inspiration behind what Grandaddy do: think Neil Young by way of Kraftwerk. While they evoke elements of the colonial/pastoral imagery of Young, they dilute this with the synthesisers and distorted guitar sounds of more contemporary acts. The opening track, ‘Nonphenomenal Lineage’, evokes those trippy, psychedelic Oklahomans, The Flaming Lips, while ‘A.M. 180’ is up-beat Weezer-style punk rock without the geekiness; the catchy synth riff sitting besides fuzzed-up punk guitar, as if no contradiction occurs. As memorable and hooky as the music may be here, the resonating factor is the truly lovely lyricism. Lytle’s song of desperate love and devotion begins with the lines: “Don’t change your name/Keep it the same/For fear I may lose you again.” This song is as heartfelt as any, ending with the shamelessly unpoetic turn-of-phrase: “We’ll sit for days/And talk about things/Important to us like whatever/We’ll defuse bombs/and walk marathons/And take on whatever, together.” The honesty of the lyrics is offset superbly by the whimsical, punkish approach to musicianship. Catchy, accessible and raw, ‘A.M. 180’ is a little piece of pop genius that stands up to repeat listens.
 
Another standout track is the brilliant ode to escapism, ‘Collective Dreamwish of Upperclass Elegance’. Lytle sings: “Here I sit and play guitar/Drink beer out in the country/Having narrowly escaped my trip/Into town and now there’s no one around.” With urban rock of ever-increasing popularity, this sentiment seems a call out to those with rusticity in their hearts to step forth and buck this sad movement. Let the tiresome Britpop boys whinge about newly-found fame, girls, and their various acts of debauchery (yes, it’s aimed at you, Oasis… another piece of self-indulgent crap), let’s turn our ears to the disenchanted and struggling folkies who search for a muse in the intangible. Grandaddy is producing music not for the masses, but for the select few who want and yearn for simpler existence; an existence free from turmoil and overly-complex lifestyles; the simple, unadulterated life. This song typifies Grandaddy at their best: quiet, understated and emotionally engaging.

For all its moments of genius, there’s a definite sense of Under The Western Freeway being a little under-cooked. Tracks like ‘Poisoned At Hartsy Thai Food’ have an amateur reek, what could have been a great opportunity for a Tom Waits-style, spoken-word ballad loses momentum and dies, lasting barely a minute. ‘Under The Western Freeway’, is a non-event of an instrumental segue, repetitive and lacking dynamics; similarly the last track, ‘Lawn & So On’ is underwhelming, high on concept and very low on content, as the album fades out to the meditative sounds of birds chirping and wind rustling through the trees. The album’s main weakness, something that definitely contributes to this undercooked feel, is its production: songs that promise a lot, such as ‘Laughing Stock’ are let down either by poorly produced drums, or vocals so low in the mix that they’re indecipherable. Frustratingly, ‘Go Progress Chrome’, which promises so much, is aborted far too early on, and is painfully underdeveloped. For a record so full of ideas, and for the most part so well-constructed, it may well be said that tracks like these lend it an ‘unfinished’ feel, rendering its promise as yet unfulfilled.

‘Why Took Your Advice’ all but makes up for these indiscretions. Slight, yet graceful, encompassing the little electro loops and country-style guitar licks that Grandaddy seems to love, this track is again lifted by the honest sentiment underlying its lyrics: “I took your advice/And fixed my radio/But I can’t find anything/That sounds good anymore.” Again playing the luddite, Lytle is continuing the theme of the record, drawing empathy as he is giving voice to the despair many of us feel at switching our radios on; the complete spitefulness of being swamped by advertising and marketing campaigns that compel us to act in ways we would otherwise be averse to.

While this album reaches heights unthinkable for so many of today’s rock bands, there’s an uneasy sensation that Grandaddy’s little pieces of indie-electro genius will fly under the radar. While Radiohead lead the way in terms of ingenuity, and have produced a pastiche of electro and rock that will most likely resonate with music-lovers for a long time now, Grandaddy approach similar disenchantment with modern-day society, but without the grandiose quality. They may not be in the league of Radiohead, but do yourself a favour and let Grandaddy charm you into submission.