Review: Spoon – Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga

MP3: The Underdog

For many Spoon turned a corner (or jumped a shark) with Gimme Fiction, one that favored big studio flourishes and a hankering to wallow in their rags-to-riches-to-rags-to-riches existence instead of the stalwart songwriting and idiosyncratic quirks that made Kill the Moonlight such a triumph. Save “I Turn My Camera On,” the album was a creamy, vanilla bore. The dour second half, enough to write off the band as comfortably set in their ways, with little regard to re-charting a path towards indie-rock salvation. Britt Daniel sounded awfully tired. Sitting with Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga months before its release (really, the leaks gotta’ stop), seeing them half-heartedly play live to an over-inebriated, thankless crowd, I started to get the feeling that Spoon was done for; another one of my collegiate idols reduced to a few awkward radio hits and soundtracking. Thing is, I’m wrong.

The horribly titled record, probably reference to the monotony and mediocrity Spoon was becoming, still relies on minimalism and a modicum of tattered edges to structure its songs, only difference being, Spoon have finally mastered being themselves. “You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb” and “The Underdog” in particular though, jump out of the two-toned, acoustic mood that defines the band’s sound, giving way to buoyant pop, gauzed in Spector-ish sonic frills and brass nicked from blue-eyed soul. Both are bright and punchy, but they were also undeniable birthed a Daniel/Eno creation as there’s little mistaking the former’s nicotine-dusted, near-scat vocal treatments, and the latter’s economical percussive puzzles.

Going beyond the obvious hits, the albums uses few tools to make a sizable, affecting racket and is prone to throwing in addendums of kora and Spanish guitar (both appear at the end of “My Little Japanese Cigarette Case”) as window dressing rather than basing songs around such excess. It’s the tiny mistakes, false choruses, and playful knob twists that characterize “Finer Feelings” and “Eddie’s Ragga;” simple as origami until it’s unfolded to reveal shortcuts and do-overs. Many of Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga’s ten tracks operate within that mundane repetition, Spoon’s entire m.o. post-Girls Can Tell has loitered around a slacker’s thrift, here though Daniel proves he has a skilled hand to dissect it, deconstruct it, and stretch equal parts glum demeanor and understated optimism just far enough not to flaunt his gift of melody. Whether it’s the career-encompassing record that will be their legacy remains to be seen, for now, after some deep listens, it’s certainly the finest version of Spoon being Spoon they’ve put to tape yet.

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