When we die and move among the ideal platonic forms of which the things of this world are but dim reflections, we will finally be able to attend a screening of the perfect Teen Ensemble Comedy, the one glimpsed only in flashes of Better Off Dead, Can’t Hardly Wait, and a hundred other of their ilk. The band at the big final dance of the perfected Teen Ensemble Comedy? It will be The Eames Era. The confetti falling from the ceiling will be made of crystallized pop greatness and it will go ba-ba-pa-ba, ba-ba-pa-ba when it hits the floor.
Do not mistake this for a considered critical judgment. I am powerless before a well deployed ba-ba-pa-ba vocal. I hate George W. Bush’s policies with a passion. But if, during a State of the Union address, he were to replace Dick Cheney, scowling in the background like the slow-roasted baby-flesh he had for dinner was giving him gas, with a pop-rock combo going ba-ba-pa-ba, or sha-la-la-la, or whoa-oh-oh-oh, I’d have a bowtie around my neck and a Sean Hannity poster over my bed before anyone even had time to react. Its eyes would follow me everywhere I move. I would sleep in the tub.
Despite this admitted Achilles heel, I think I’m right to say that the new Eames Era album, Heroes and Sheroes, is sort of great (MP3s-a-plenty at that link). If I had one complaint about their debut, Double Dutch, it was that the nonstop barrage of hooks in every song was a little exhausting for one listen. I still tend to to play the record in halves (and I sort of prefer the second half, if anyone cares). Don’t get me wrong: the new album still has more hooks than my dad’s tackle box (and you’re far less likely to get tetanus from these, which is a nice bonus), but Heroes and Sheroes sees the band letting the line run a little longer before setting those hooks. It feels like a proper album as opposed to a collection of catchy songs, and, if the final result is a bit more inconsistent, it’s also a lot more interesting.
The band worked with producer Daniel Black this time around, and the result is a lusher, more textured sound. Instead of gliding as quickly as possible across glass-smooth surfaces, the band makes time to poke around the cracks and fissures between—and within—the songs. Deft production flourishes abound, from the stabby strings in “NC-17 and Counting” to the barely audible drowning-echo vocals that haunt “Little Brother.” And if there’s another song as much fun as “All Bets are Off” released this year, well, I’d like to hear it.* There are a few missteps, such as the generic “When You Were a Millionaire,” but the overall character of the album is a lot closer to the compelling, brooding stomp-pop of closer “I Am a Thing.”
And of course it’s always well worth your time to see them live. This past weekend’s show at the Spanish Moon fell short of the bliss-pop revelation that was their show in the same venue back in August, perhaps the result of working out some of the new songs live. Still fun anyway. So, what I’m saying, if you like happiness, go order the album.
*Seriously, I would. I like fun songs.
Hurrah for the Eames Era! They’re getting bigger + bigger in Jaxxon (the Stanzilla called me last week to see if we could get them for a show at Crossroads). I was wary of their first album for some reason, but I’m totally picking this one up.
And if they perform and if we saw them and if we could talk to one another, don’t you think we’d suppose that the names we used applied to the things we saw passing before us? And if we ascended to the sunlight and looked up in the sky and saw fish flying, perhaps, we could go back into the cave and offer the prisoners an Eames lounge chair.
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