thought Ben Gibbard's melancholic tenor would get airplay, both with Death Cab and his synth-pop side project the Postal Service? Who thought these non-fashion-plates would become muses to
The O.C., playing the Bait Shop the way the Flaming Lips once played the Peach Pit on
90210? Just think: If Death Cab had finished this album a little sooner, they could have kept Mischa and Brandon together.
Death Cab broke through with their fourth and finest album, 2003's Transatlanticism. That disc still sounds so great, it's a little scary. Gibbard's emotive singing and guitar found the perfect foil in the production of guitarist-keyboardist Chris Walla, who gave the big pow to songs like "Title and Registration," "Tiny Vessels" and "Transatlanticism," amping up Gibbard's purploid poetics without steamrolling right over him. Also in 2003, Gibbard teamed up with producer Jimmy Tamborello for the Postal Service album, which came out of nowhere to become Sub Pop's biggest seller since Nirvana's Bleach. Not a bad one-two punch.
On Plans, Death Cab's fifth album (and first for a major label), they try hard not to make Transatlanticism all over again. Instead, they reach for an expansive, Abbey Road pop style, with mixed results. The high points are high, just not as high as last time. "Marching Bands of Manhattan" is a great start, with Gibbard chanting, "Your love is gonna drown" over an urgent guitar riff. The single "Soul Meets Body" has an R.E.M.-style jangle, sped up to electro-disco tempo. "I Will Follow You Into the Dark" strips it down to Gibbard's voice and acoustic guitar, which works powerfully for such a starkly emotional love song dealing with the imminence of death. Yet it demonstrates how wise Gibbard is to let the band mess with his pristine melodies, which would sound wispy and ignorable on their own.
Plans flounders in the second half, where Death Cab run out of songs and try to fill the holes with busy keyboard bits. They obviously decided to minimize guitars and emphasize synths, maybe inspired by the success of the Postal Service -- after the first two songs, there isn't a memorable guitar part on the whole album. This should have been a fruitful experiment. But most
Signed to Atlantic for No. 5 (bye, Barsuk), DCFC face the whine of indie sell out. The snooty may blog of slickness, but the band has always sounded smooth and pretty as well as winsomely lo-fi. "Soul Meets Body" and "Crooked Teeth" are classic Death Cab: wistful yet full of hope, echoing with a backdrop of "ba da ba"s.
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