Spoon "Gimme Fiction" (Merge)
By Caroline Bermudez
Tuesday. Jun 07, 1:48 AM
Economical and smart: the best of what rock has to offer.

Looking at the album art for Gimme Fiction proves instructive in understanding the music of Spoon. A figure evoking Little Red Riding Hood graces the cover, while a booklet reveals this same figure as a wolf in sheep’s clothing holding a lupine mask and a basket of gory contents. Everything is not as it seems, and even the most innocuous beings have something to hide. Spoon, the duo of singer/songwriter Britt Daniel and drummer Jim Eno (who handle much of the production duties), likes to screw around with convention, but not through obvious, attention-starved ploys. They are both Little Red Riding Hood before and after her fall, and a wolf in sheep’s clothing, creating radio-friendly pop and rock with a hint of the sinister or spectral underneath the gloss and catchy hooks.

Gimme Fiction is the epitome of a Hitchcock film where, amidst all the elegance and style, there’s a persistent feeling of something amiss. Their superb last two albums, Girls Can Tell and Kill the Moonlight, used space and silence to maximum effect, producing songs that were barely there. The same taut craftsmanship is present on Gimme Fiction, but the result is Spoon at their most full sounding. However, make no mistake: the oft-skeletal production may be padded, yet Spoon have not gone completely square. Kinks abound.

Such kinks are found in “The Two Sides of Monsieur Valentine,” where Daniel, in his sexy, alluringly weathered voice, reminds listeners “you think things are straight but they’re not what they seem.” At first, the song’s protagonist wants to play a stereotypical hero “cuz he gets to swordfight the duke / he kidnaps the queen.” Washes of staccato strings color the chorus with notes stretching out discordantly. They linger in the air at the song’s end by which we have learned more about the hero’s activities, as “he makes love to the duke / he swordfights the queen.” Once again, Spoon manage to add dashes of the peculiar.

Spoon have the uncanny ability to sound like a number of bands without resorting to cheap imitation. The remarkably catchy opener, “The Beast and Dragon, Adored,” has the feel of a familiar classic rock song (think a number from the Stones’ catalog). Its anthemic lines that will be shouted out by audiences at many Spoon shows to come: “When you don’t feel it it shows / they tear out your soul / and when you believe they call it rock and roll.” It’s among Spoon’s most polished works. “I Turn My Camera On” recalls early Prince, as the rhythm section puts down a spare funk groove and Daniel sings in a falsetto voice. One imagines that it’s a holdover from the Kill the Moonlight sessions. The chiming guitars, clap-along melody, and sunny chorus of “Sister Jack” evoke Revolver-era Beatles, particularly “Taxman.” “I Summon You” is a slice of sweet, lovelorn pop replete with memorable hooks and an ethereal piano line hovering gently above. The lightness of the song is belied by the wistful lyrics: Daniel implores a love to “remember the weight of the world / it’s a sound we used to buy / on cassette and 45.”

All these songs, no matter how catchy they are, have more going on past initial impressions, be it lyrics that indicate alienation or loneliness, or off-kilter production bits here and there: splashes of distortion, tinkles of a Rhodes, or digital snaps that creep in with little notice. That these things are easy to miss is probably the purpose of introducing such trickery; these songs want, and deserve, repeat listenings.

Nighttime paranoia and the aura of danger infiltrate the album’s last four songs. Daniel croons in falsetto, “I got something to tell you / far outside the black and the white” on “The Infinite Pet.” Spoon flirt with new wave here, coming off as a subdued Soft Cell. The combination of plunking minor piano chords, ‘80s fuzz Rhodes, organ, and kalimba form spooky, twinkling percussive effects. Analog production by John Vanderslice (the busiest man in indie rock) and Scott Solter aid “Was It You?” A Wurlitzer floats above bare bones hip hop style drumming and “creepy bass” courtesy of Eddie Robert. Daniel’s voice is echoed and fed back while rings, a delay drum, sleigh bells, and random sound flourishes contribute to the quiet urgency as Daniel coolly intones “and we was cutting through the park / trying to get home before too dark.” The digital trappings of the song sound like the lurking things (or people) Daniel wants to avoid. Lurk they do, since Daniel doesn’t sing for most of “Was It You?” Smooth with soul inflections, “They Never Got You” is reminiscent of Hall & Oates, only far more menacing. Swells of eerie electronic programming aping strings drone over a melody of handclaps. Propelled forward by slaps, drums, and piano in an organic fashion, “Merchants of Soul” has a bright surface belied by strings, plinks of a Moog, and a suspicious Daniel singing “yes you’re looking for us we know that’s right / that way you move it’s all an act.” The plinks become faster and tenser as Daniel makes his exit.

Seeing Spoon live last week, I finally figured out why I love them: they don’t waste a single note. The dynamic interplay of bass and drums is nearly perfect (a more economical drummer than Eno, I wager, would be extremely difficult to find), Daniel has a singular voice, and the songs’ payoffs are immediate: Spoon never make you work hard to enjoy their songs. Like its predecessors, Gimme Fiction is rock at its smartest and most accessible – kinks included.
www.spoontheband.com
www.mergerecords.com

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Caroline Bermudez

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