Ode to Sp...oon.

...yet another brilliant product of Austin, TX. Yes, I do think I'm quite comfortable devoting my first submission to "Eyes" with an ode to perhaps one of the most under-appreciated indie rock bands of all time, Spoon. This band has mastered the art of blending the best of the 60's, tortured indie wails, sharp, punky riffs, and dramatic clamor of piano keys with good ol' pop rock crafted to perfection. ("Iron clad hooks," I once read.) And when I say "perfection," I mean it.

The band's frontman, Britt Daniel, is known for his obsession with detail. In fact, one may wonder if that obsession has made him a bit of a misanthrope...he's not known for self-indulgent interviews soaked with feeling, his ego needs no stroking, and rumors have it that he doesn't actually like to perform on stage. (From what I've witnessed, I'd beg to differ.) I'd say he likes interviews even less. Here, take this example of one hilariously bad "BD" interview:

LS: Have you ever felt like that, been so inspired by someone's art or talent that you developed a crush?
BD: Yeah. Malcolm X for instance.
LS: Really?
BD: No.

LS: So I was curious why you used to perform under the pseudonym Drake Tungsten?
BD: I think I just wanted a more entertaining name.
LS: I think Britt Daniel is such a rock star name, no?
BD: Yeah, well, I’m starting to come around to it.

LS: And you're from Texas originally?
BD: Yeah. I grew up here.
LS: How come you don't have an accent?
BD: Smart people don't.

LS: When you play live, do you inspire more schoolgirl crushes than hardcore groupies?
BD: Well yeah, I definitely don't see any girls that look like they should be at Motley Crue shows.
LS: No panties being thrown?
BD: No.
LS: Never?
BD: One time somebody lifted up her shirt and thought that would be a way to get us to play a song that she wanted to hear.
LS: Did it work?
BD: No.

Right up front on Spoon's MySpace page, it reads: "the higher the monkey climb, the more he expose." For the first time in the five years of my Spoon fandom -- I know, not nearly long enough--I realized this band finally has exposed its depth...emotional depth. Now don't get me wrong, I've adored such older diddies like "Jonathan Fisk," one of the best original rock songs ever to fall on my ears, "the Fitted Shirt," "Back to the Life," "Mathematical Mind" (that blew my face off with first listen) "The Beast and Dragon, Adored," etc etc etc. But all these brilliant tunes fulfilled one thing for me: they just made me feel gosh darn cool, a true bad arse behind the walls of my brain, for no justifiable reason. And that's rock and roll, dammit. That's what it does best!

But then came their latest album, "Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga." And at the risk of being almost a year late in giving this album its proper credit -- perhaps reflective of most Spoon fans slow to come around--I think the first time I actually felt moved by a rock song was with "Little Japanese Cigarette Case." (Ok, "2+2 = 5" was the first but I digress...) Maybe it was the mood I was in, or maybe it was because I read an article explaining that Mr. Daniel wrote the song in the wake of a painful breakup with his ex, after having moved to Portland for her ("we tried and we tried," he said briefly in an interview that he actually took seriously), but all in all, that avalanche of guitars -- compounded by the classic Daniel wail -- that builds and crashes at the end in a tidal wave of cathartic sadness and well, a "letting go," so to speak, is just bella. The whole song is a few lines repeated:

"It's just my Japanese cigarette case,
bring a mirror to my face
let all my memories be gone

Bring me my Japanese cigarette case,
bring a mirror to my face,
oh, let all my memories be gone."

All this is to say Spoon is worthy of deep respect and a careful listen. They have much more to offer than a good ol' dancin in your room, singing with your Bic pen microphone, or driving down a windy road with your shades on, being the bad arse Spoon has helped you think you are. They are human beings struggling, living, and learning like the rest of us. It's all there, weaved in lyrics of superbly crafted-to-precision rock songs. Somewhere John Lennon is smiling for Britt and his boys as I type...

Miz Fitz