Latest three-man album isn't 'Sebad'

The new release from Sebadoh offers dual perspectives on love, obsession and idealism, once again

By TODD MARTENS
Staff Writer

Sebadoh has always given us the tales of two men. Well, to be more accurate, Sebadoh has always given us two different takes on hopeless romanticism.

Led by Lou Barlow, previously in Dinosaur Jr. and currently in Folk Implosion, and Jason Loewenstein, Sebadoh is the joint project of two broken-hearted men who share a lack of luck with women. Both are indie-rock geeks, and their influence can be heard in the likes of Pavement and Guided by Voices, but whereas Barlow leans a little more toward folk, Loewenstein leans a little more toward garage-rock. When put together, their albums possess two slightly different attitudes, as each split songwriting and singing duties.

Occasionally, the band was criticized for sounding like two different solo projects. Sure, the albums were sometimes pulled in two directions, but Barlow and Loewenstein were too smart to just throw their songs together. It was an apt juxtaposition because it captured the schizophrenia of broken-hearted idealism.

Thankfully, that trend continues on The Sebadoh, the band's seventh album. Loewenstein resignedly admits that he's too old to apologize on "Thrive," one of his tamer numbers, which rides a straightforward groove punctuated by frustratingly strummed guitars. Two tracks later, though, Barlow gives us "Sorry," a maniacally depressive mid-tempo song with a melody that is buried in the gloomy echo of the drums, leaving Barlow to fruitlessly apologize.

But not everything is the same in the land of Sebadoh. New drummer Russ Pollard cleverly made sure of that. It's not just a self-titled album, which bands often try to use in a half-hearted effort to rediscover their roots. The addition of the word "The" in the title would hint that the Barlow and Loewenstein believe this to be the first fully realized vision of Sebadoh. In a sense, it is. No longer do Barlow and Loewenstein sharply rock the album back and forth; Sebadoh sounds like, well, a band.

Pollard is able to keep Barlow from getting too wimpy, and Loewenstein from having a nervous breakdown. When Barlow finds a charmingly breezy acoustic strum on the hopelessly faithful "Tree," and sings the song with the carefree attitude of someone finding love at first sight, Pollard isn't far behind. Near the one-minute mark, Pollard clacks into the song like an actor from "Stomp," almost as if he's reminding Barlow not to get too love-struck. Conversely, in Loewenstein's self-loathing and vengeful "So Long," Pollard is there to drive the industrialized guitars along, yet he knows when to pull back so Loewenstein doesn't lose control.

That's not to say Pollard has made the contrast between the two less meaningful. On the contrary, Pollard has simply made it more manageable on the listener. Though Barlow and Loewenstein are certainly fine composers, their stuff will still sound somewhat familiar to anyone raised on indie-rock. Therefore, this contrast is Sebadoh's biggest asset, and Pollard gives it a tighter connection than it has ever had before.

The two spend a good portion of the album trying to perfect garage rave-ups like "It's All You," "Decide" and "Weird." On "It's All You," Loewenstein is irresistibly reckless. It's easy to picture him slamming out the lyrics in a drunken sweat after hours of trying to convince some girl not to leave him. The guitars ring with urgently desperate riffs and electronic warbles weave in and out, adding to the confusion.

Barlow answers with a calmer take on obsessive behavior. The tears have dried by the time he sings "Love is Stronger," but the truth hasn't sunk in. The truth won't ever set us free, Barlow mourns. It's a touchingly aching ballad, punctuated by an alarmingly oppressive melody.

Barlow and Loewenstein only show the extremities of their personalities once. Loewenstein comes close to burning his fuse on "Cuban," a wildly chaotic mess where guitars chomp and it sounds like Pollard has replaced his drumsticks with spoons. Barlow, on the other hand, gets to show his grace as an arranger on "Flame," a cautious pop ditty that channels early Phil Spector (think "Then He Kissed Me"). It would be his biggest hit since Folk Implosion's "Natural One" if he didn't surrender the catchy-as-all-hell riff to a smattering of garage and studio noise halfway through the song.

The Sebadoh is neither as delicate nor as wild as 1996's Harmacy, but Pollard has made the despairing drama between Barlow and Loewenstein as digestible as possible.

Copyright 1999 by the Daily Trojan. All rights reserved.
This article was published in Vol. 136, No. 25 (Tuesday, February 23, 1999), beginning on page 7 and ending on page 11.