Once upon a time, independent labels provided an outlet for adventurous music the masses weren't quite ready for. No more. Too many indies these days regurgitate the same kind of Hü rip-off bands the majors churn out. Superchunk often get blamed as the progenitor of the Hüskerclone army, but that's not really fair; Superchunk steal enough from Buzzcocks' pimply punk pop to be apart from the pack.
and a manic guitar-drums crescendo add an edge that makes it more than just another three-minute hard-pop gem. Indeed, when Superchunk veer away from their trademark clamor,
Foolish gets interesting. The album's opener, "Like a Fool," suggests a totally new direction: a melodic, lush drone in which singer Mac McCaughn's falsetto struggles against a mournful wall of guitars. And "Driveway to Driveway" offers up chugging, New Wavish pop rock, lamenting lost love with a twangy guitar hook that wouldn't be out of place in a John Hughes teen-angst movie set in the grunge age.
Despite these changes, similar tempos and volumes blur the songs into sludge, and McCaughn's adolescent yelp doesn't help. When Superchunk balance their interest in melody with their tendency to noise, as on the churning "Kicked In," their tunes resemble nothing more than the sentimental, driving songs Mick Jones used to pen for the Clash. This sincerity, though, has caused a backlash against Superchunk, once one of the most heralded indie bands. At a time when Pavement's tossed-off absurdities rule the cool school, Superchunk's earnestness comes off a little worn. Still, when one can make out the lyrics, Superchunk's anthems center on mundane, everyday concerns that betray an appealing modesty. At one point, McCaughn yells, "This is so exhausting, but I don't want it to stop" – a fair approximation of Superchunk when all the elements coalesce. (RS 684)
MATT DIEHL
