The centerpiece is "Willing to Wait," a quintessential Barlow song framed by gently strummed electric guitar, strings and a seductive melody but spiked by his sharp, bitter lyrics: "When you see him again/Tell him
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everything you told me/Tell him that I'm still your friend/ And maybe you would like to see me again." Barlow uses little wordplay darts to express anger and hurt but underscores them with intimations of brute psychological violence. "Willing to Wait" is, hands down, his finest (if unhappiest) hour.There's also much more here. In the slow-burning "On Fire" and goofy "Ocean," Barlow explores the destructiveness of failed communication in relationships, of the male's frequent inability to comprehend the signals he receives from a female partner. At a time when men are expected to be more sensitive to women's feelings and issues -- without having been taught how to truly listen -- Barlow speaks for an entire generation of confused guys without crying "victim."
Barlow's gentle tunes are juxtaposed against the fiery entries of his multi-instrumentalist band mates, Jason Lowenstein and Bob Fay. Lowenstein, who comes from a more hardcore-punk sensibility, also writes of relationships, but his approach is much more gruff. In "Worst Thing," Lowenstein squeals, Pixies style, about the frustrations of obsessing over a lover's behavior. He also sings of the love games people play in the psychedelicized "Nothing Like You."
But consistency is not Lowenstein's strong suit. "Zone Doubt" is so disjointed, it doesn't hold up; the laconic, 55-second "Love to Fight" is throwaway thrash; and the gentle "Weed Against Speed" flutters into the ether without resolution. And as poignant as "Willing to Wait" is, it's bookended by two lackluster instrumentals, Fay's "Sforzando!" and Lowenste
For years, the '60s-garage-style dissonance and folk-inspired melodicism of this prolific indie band have been associated with the low-fimovement. But Sebadoh really make high-risk music. The heart of the band is singer/songwriter Lou Barlow, whose achingly sensitive lyrics effectively dissect the frustration and awkwardness of tangled male-female relationships. In the post-cock-rock world, Barlow is the male Liz Phair, and the 19-song Harmacy is his band's best album to date.
The centerpiece is "Willing to Wait," a quintessential Barlow song framed by gently strummed electric guitar, strings and a seductive melody but spiked by his sharp, bitter lyrics: "When you see him again/Tell him everything you told me/Tell him that I'm still your friend/And maybe you would like to see me again." Barlow uses little wordplay darts to express anger and hurt but underscores them with intimations of brute psychological violence. "Willing to Wait" is, hands down, his finest (if unhappiest) hour.
There's also much more here. In the slow-burning "On Fire" and goofy "Ocean," Barlow explores the destructiveness of failed communication in relationships, of the male's frequent inability to comprehend the signals he receives from a female partner. At a time when men are expected to be more sensitive to women's feelings and issues – without having been taught how to truly listen – Barlow speaks for an entire generation of confused guys without crying "victim."
Barlow's gentle tunes are juxtaposed against the fiery entries of his multi-instrumentalist band mates, Jason Lowenstein and Bob Fay. Lowenstein, who comes from a more hardcore-punk sensibility, also writes of relationships, but his approach is much more gruff. In "Worst Thing," Lowenstein squeals, Pixies style, about the frustrations of obsessing over a lover's behavior. He also sings of the love games people play in the psychedelicized "Nothing Like You."
But consistency is not Lowenstein's strong suit. "Zone Doubt" is so disjointed, it doesn't hold up; the laconic, 55-second "Love to Fight" is throwaway thrash; and the gentle "Weed Against Speed" flutters into the ether without resolution. And as poignant as "Willing to Wait" is, it's bookended by two lackluster instrumentals, Fay's "Sforzando!" and Lowenstein's "Hillbilly II."
Edited down to just Barlow's songs and the best of Lowenstein's, Harmacy would be a near-perfect album. As it is, it's merely wonderful. (RS 742)
MARK KEMP
