 
My conception of Stephen Malkmus has always been that he is capable
of churning out completely inaccessible lyrics and make them the most
toe-tappingly beautiful pieces of his album out of pure will (and instrumental
brilliance). Perhaps the attraction of Malkmus is that he’s able
to capture single, complex moments in his personal life with such accuracy
and sincerity that when I do relate to a song, I’m utterly surprised
at how his odd lyrical formations could actually emerge as so, well,
relatable. More than that, Malkmus is a chameleon of sound: He’s
able to take various rock aesthetics and make them distinctly his own.
Thus is the reason why his earlier solo albums lacked the congruity
of his earlier work with Pavement. Without bandmates to reign in Malkmus’
songwriting, “Pig Lib” and his self-titled album were all
over the place, like an A.D.D. child taken off Adderall. “It Kills” shows more of Malkmus’s apprehensions, outlining his fear of “bland opinions” and “old dominion” while once again underlying such fears with simple dual guitar hooks and the barely discernable pickings of a banjo, proving yet again that even when Malkmus is conventional, he’s completely unique in sound. Malkmus finally abandons his fears and immerses himself in harmony in “Loud Cloud Crowd,” a track boasting beautiful lyrics and instrumentation reminiscent Beulah’s “When Your Heartstrings Break.” Malkmus captures the feel of his album best in “Kindling for
the Master,” which opens with robot chanting fading into jazzy
jiving. His voice continues to fade into and out of Styx-esque robotics,
explaining, “If I’m a little erratic you must give me some
space to let me spin it in and out and up and through your face.”
If he’ll continue to produce songs of such beauty, I’m glad
to comply. – Natalie Tsu |
Stephen
Malkmus