Knee Deep At MFNW: A Poor Girl's Guide to Portland's Music Festival

Portland’s Music Fest Northwest (or MFNW for short) is worth the price of admission. This year’s festival featured everyone from Mogwai to TV on the Radio to Vampire Weekend, among some 200 other bands, and all for $50, who could pass it up? I had to, unfortunately, because being a broke and unemployed youth means you don’t get to do things like this very often.

However, while looking over the schedule for MFNW, I noticed something: the Wonder Ballroom, one of the more budget friendly venues in the area, was offering three free shows, sponsored by Nike. Not only were they free, but they were actually good: No Age and Battles, then Britt Daniel of Spoon performing solo and opening for Built to Spill, and finally Ratatat and Les Savy Fav. How could I possibly turn down such an offer? The only catch: to get into said shows, one had to attain a pass on the day of each show from Portland’s fabulous Jackpot Records, which meant, as always, come early.

And so, come early I did. After a night spent awake, I arrived at Jackpot Records on the first day early enough that I was one of the first in line. The doors open, and I’m in and out faster than you can blink. This will be a breeze, if every day is like this. I make my way home to rest before the show.

Thursday evening arrived drowsy but nonetheless exciting. I was exhausted, but I knew that, when No Age took the stage, I would be just fine. Unfortunately I had forgotten that one of the most enjoyable aspects of the band is their ability to go from quietly beautiful to jarringly loud, which I realized as I began to drift off in the middle of the set, only to be awakened by finding myself in the middle of a mosh pit. I was now awake.

That is, until Battles began, who have the same sort of effect: I peacefully closed my eyes and enjoyed the fact that they can lull you to sleep with one song, only to throw you into chaos in the next moment. Now that I was truly awake, I could appreciate the fact that, even live, Battles is one of the tightest bands working today, and earn their classification of “math rock;” everything is exactly where it needs to be, and this is proven by the fact that I didn’t see a single set list on the stage, for any member of the band. That’s downright impressive in my book.

I arrive at the Wonder Ballroom, better late than never, on Friday night. I’ll admit I wasn’t sure what I was in for as far as a solo Britt Daniel set was concerned, but he proved that he was just as competent solo (and, for an added surprise, with former Sleater Kinney drummer Janet Weiss) as he is with Spoon, and shows that he’s talented enough as a guitarist to not sound as if the songs are lacking something when he performs.

After this comes Built to Spill, the quietly influential Boise, ID indie band, performing their exceptionally brilliant 1997 album Perfect From Now On. This is an album that has meant a lot to me recently, so this was the most exciting performance of this weekend, as well as the set I would be scrutinizing the most. However, I wasn’t let down in the least: the performance was much more than I had expected, and I left with a grin on my face, knowing it would be hard to top such a performance.

Spending so little time sleeping can really catch up with you. I was nearly late to see the second show because I made the mistake of taking a nap in between getting my pass and going to the show, but after that, I made the immense mistake of trusting myself to get up in the morning after such an exhausting two days. I woke up at 9:30am on Saturday, 30 minutes after I would normally be getting to Jackpot. A tragic mistake, but I did get into the show that night, but only due to my own ingenuity, and I’m thankful that I did.

I had heard a lot of people talk about Ratatat before I saw them, but I had no idea what I was getting into by seeing them. Their set was a trip into the bizarre and the brilliant; three men standing solemnly on-stage while a strobe light flashed lazily behind them, and a projector played almost acidic footage of altered kung-fu films, all of this complete with a smog machine. Though I had never heard them before that show, I became a fan watching them work their magic almost effortlessly.

As for art-punk band Les Savy Fav, I find it immensely difficult to talk about their performance without focusing on the antics of frontman Tim Harrington. I have heard Les Savy Fav billed as one of the best live shows around, and I can tell you that this is by no means inaccurate. Harrington’s ability to rile up a crowd is unmatched, doing things like handing over the microphone to a member of the crowd to run to the balcony to dance with the sitting crowd, to crowd-surfing on a ladder (you can’t make this up.) Performances such as this one are the kind to make you beg for the end, while simultaneously hoping you could make them play all night. I couldn’t possibly tell you how enjoyable this band is live, but I can tell you that their performance was the best I saw this weekend.

After I had stumbled out of the venue, and watched Tim Harrington chase down an ice cream truck that had provided ice cream to the people in line during these three shows, I felt exhausted, but I felt proud that I hadn’t let exhaustion or alarm clocks stand in the way of what was one of the most enjoyable concert-going weekends of my life so far. Near the end it all felt like a terrible hangover, but one that was almost worth it because the night before was just so fantastic. In the digital age, the days of waiting in line for tickets to a show are almost completely dead, and I wouldn’t have traded the early mornings and afternoon naps for anything. This said, I’m buying a wristband next year.

"Did you see the drummer's hair?" - The effect of music videos on music quality

On a day not unlike the day I start writing this, I showed two of my friends a video by the band Liars, for their song “House Clouds.” I showed them because, knowing my friends, the two would enjoy the fact that, throughout most of the video, the three members of the band are playing with animals, the most prominent being the frontman playing with an almost spine-crushingly cute kitten. During this video, one of my friends stated, jokingly, “Maybe they’re using the animals to take attention away from how unattractive they are.”

The video in question: Liars - "Houseclouds"

Even though she was joking, it seems that this is a major factor in music listening in teenagers, for little-to-no reason. Spending time in the company of teenagers means you listen to a lot of popular music, and thus, you listen to those teenagers talk about those bands. And, unfortunately, the discussion usually centers on the relative attractiveness of the members thereof. “I love blank, he is so hot,” or “He has such a hot voice, I would totally bang him” are the most commonly shared comments on whatever band happens to be on. This is, of course, not a new concept, but it shows a lot about what television channels such as MTV and Fuse have done to the collective discussion on the topic of music.

I myself was not around when MTV reared its big ugly head in the first place, so I’m certainly not a reliable source for how things have changed since it became a force in the listening community. However, it goes without stating that, if not for channels like MTV, the relative “hotness” of these bands would be almost irrelevant, unless you were a showgoer. It seems that, since musicians began focusing more and more on being pleasing to the eyes rather than the ears, the quality of the product being produced has taken a marked nosedive. Musicians (or at least well-known musicians) have ceased to be musicians, but more people with good-looking faces and bodies that happen to put out records.

Would this be to say that, without the invention of MTV, people would still be almost oblivious to the looks of their favorite bands? Certainly not. There would still be magazines and posters to be bought, and even if MTV hadn’t come along, someone else would inevitably have the idea to make it possible to see music. However, it has never been so very easy to see the face behind the voice you’ve been enjoying. Even if you don’t watch MTV or Fuse or VH1, you can simply go online and look for pictures of the bands you know and love, which was certainly not possible (or as possible) when MTV arrived. Though it doesn’t necessarily play a lot of music, when kids watch the videos they do air, they are much more concerned with if they would like to go to bed with the musician, and nevermind if that musician is talented.

I don’t place the blame squarely on the shoulders of the listening community. It doesn’t help that pop musicians have become little more than grinning, handsome spokespeople who are trying to sell you their band. This seems to be the purpose of having your face plastered all over the internet, in videos, magazines, so on: to sell the product. You may think I only think this because 90% of the music I listen to comes from faceless (and usually unattractive) people who play music and little else. But really, that’s what they were hired to do. Music is something you listen to, after all, and it doesn’t matter how cute the bassist is with his hair like that. And it shouldn’t matter to the person making the music how their hair looks: as said: we didn’t hire you to look cute and fun loving. We hired you to play us a few songs and go home.

It seems that music has almost gone the way of the profession of acting: who cares if Heath Ledger was on his way to becoming one of the best and most well rounded actors in the modern era? His position in the world was shown by the overwhelming response I got from my peers: “Why did Heath have to die? He was so hot!” It was not an actor who died, it was a hot guy. And so it goes for music. If the members of a certain band were half as good looking, would it be unreasonable to believe that they would sell less records? Would kids still turn out to their shows like they do now? I don’t believe it would be a stretch to believe that, if musicians were still musicians, rather than faces selling a product, music would still be as good as it was when the only time you saw the person playing was if you went out of your way to do so, by going to a concert, or buying a magazine with said band in it.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it somewhat backwards that the faces of musicians sell more records than the quality of the product? Shouldn’t it be more relevant that people in the band can actually use their instruments properly? It is true, people were just as up in arms about the relative attractiveness of, say, Elvis Presley or The Beatles, but it was never more important than the fact that they played pretty good music (even though Elvis didn’t exactly make what is commonly called “good music”). Is it so wrong that I wish musicians would just shut up and play their instruments, like they used to, and stopped fixing their goddamn hair?

Day Three: The Hold Steady

My friends and I arrived an hour early to the Crystal Ballroom. We stood by the door, and pondered going to the record store across the street, but I convinced them to wait. Why exactly? Consider the following (in retrospect terrible, absolutely terrible) photograph:

Schmuck on left: yours truly (looking AWFUL). Schmuck on right: Craig Finn (frontman; The Hold Steady

I’ve never been so interactive with the bands involved in a show before, excluding local bands at coffee shops. The first band on stage was a fun little punk band called The Loved Ones, who I had not heard before the show, but liked immensely by the end of the set. The highlight here was frontman Dave Hause deciding it was a superb idea to start the show by crouching above me onstage and messing up my hair! For added fun, Tad Kubler and Franz Nicolay (and his badass harmonica skills) of The Hold Steady joined them for one last song, which was a great treat. They only played 30 minutes, but they made the most of every minute, embodying the kind of music that your mother warned you about. They show a special sort of passion for their music, the kind you aren’t going to understand unless you see them play live. A fine choice for a band to play with a band like The Hold Steady: passionate and happy just to be there.

(This man mussed my hair!)

Fellow on right: Tad Kubler (guitarist; The Hold Steady)

Then… The Hold Steady. What can I say that I haven’t already said about this band? They are my inspiration for writing and playing music, and it’s an honor to have seen them live at all, let alone twice. Seeing this band play, if you like them at all, is almost like going to church: with everyone screaming and smiling and cheering, it’s hard not to feel like you’ve seen something really special in having been present for what they do.

Reverend Finn

While frontman (and personal idol) Craig Finn jumps around riles up the crowd, singing his gospels, guitarist Tad Kubler unfurls his intense and often absurd guitar work, the likes of which aren’t often seen by the bar band scene of the US. This is all backed by the wonderful bass work of Galen Polivka (who also started their show by messing up my hair [twice!] for some reason), the keyboard skill of Franz Nicolay (who looks like someone who should have been in Gogol Bordello), and the equally excellent drum skill of Bobby Drake (easily one of the most normal looking of the bunch). All of the tiny moving parts make up the rousing, almost otherworldly whole, and it’s hard not to be awe inspired by their shows.

Galen Polivka, who also mussed my hair

It’s hard not to babble incessantly about what a show with The Hold Steady is like. A year ago, when I saw them the first time, I realized that you could love or hate them, but looking at Craig Finn, there are a lot of things he should be doing, but there’s only one thing he wants to be doing. Finn is by no means the type to hide the fact that he’s pleased as punch to be doing what he’s doing, and he’s humbled by the fact that there are four people who are willing to play with him, and the fact that there are so many kids who know every last word he’s committed to record. For a man like Finn, there is no greater gift than having his lyrics screamed back at him while he wails on his guitar, and it’s clear when he dances around stage, smiling more than any human being should be able to. Say what you will about their music, but you can’t hate them, if only for the fact that they are the embodiment of American rock: it’s done from the heart and soul, and to hell with how anyone feels about how you sound.

Franz Nicolay, who I've watched uncork a bottle of wine by mouth

I left the Crystal Ballroom with a noise in my ears. After three nights of ear-splitting racket, it was a wonder that I was able to hear properly. I also left with a smile on my face, because even though I’ve seen it before, I got to see something truly special: a band that is really, truly happy to be doing what they’re doing, and who couldn’t be more happy with what they’ve created: real live American rock n’ roll. I doubt I will ever tire of The Hold Steady’s brand of sing along song, because the message transcends Craig Finn’s half-singing: “Music is still alive, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it die on my watch.”

MORE PHOTOS:

Another terrible picture (fellow on right: Franz Nicolay; keyboardist, wine enthusiast)


The Loved Ones






The Hold Steady

Day Two: Girl Talk

“Lindsey, I’m probably going to die tonight at this show. I’m giving you my DVDs.”
“Oh, c’mon. It’s only Girl Talk!”
It's only Girl Talk, she tells me. What she doesn't know is, Girl Talk is aware of the fact that you don’t have 26 orifices to be raped in. Do you really think it’s going to let a thing like that stop it?

Lindsey telling me that it was “only Girl Talk” was the harbinger of doom for the both of us, an hour or so before we arrived at the sold out Girl Talk show. I should have known when she told me not to worry because it was “only Girl Talk” that I would end up much, much more messed up than I could possibly imagine.

The first band up was called Money Trick. They are… get this: a Jesus Lizard cover band. Now, if you are familiar with Girl Talk, you know that the only band weirder for this show is maybe Iron & Wine. The frontman clearly diluted the heroin he shot up before the show with Pabst Blue Ribbon, and then drank a 12 pack in five minutes for good measure. He seemed acutely aware of the fact that 99.9% of the crowd was literally telling him to get off the stage, and he didn’t care, going as far as to get into the crowd, mic and all, start a mosh pit, and get back on stage, corralling people with the mic cord. “I can really feel the love here tonight!” the frontman quipped during the set.

Next up was Panther. Playing like an edgier, more lo-fi version of YACHT, their frontman danced around the stage singing loudly while his drummer played on. A couple songs in, he picked up his Fender Telecaster, which, I noticed, had a broken e-string, and was dreadfully out of tune. That’s the point, mind you. They seemed to be a bridge between the Pissed Jeans-esque howl of Money Trick, and the beat of Girl Talk.

Then… Girl Talk. The brainchild of Gregg Gillis, the titan of mash-up artists, who famously caused a stage to collapse when his fans got too rowdy when they were partying with him ON STAGE. I knew this story beforehand, but I didn’t remember it until after I was on stage with him, and I wondered: could it happen again? After we were sent off stage, I was poured back into the crowd, where I was smashed around, thrown around, molested, and attacked by a young woman who was clearly on drugs (picture below, story upon request).

There is no accurate way to describe just what Girl Talk does to you, so I will impart what Lindsey said, when I shared with a friend that the only thing worse would be maybe Slayer: “I’ve seen Slayer. This was way worse.” After spending an hour-and-some-change being ruined by the crowd and the music, I have to say the following: I went to Ozzfest. Compared to this, Ozzfest is for children. Tread lightly when contemplating a Girl Talk show, friends. This is not a show for the faint of heart. This is a show for those who want something more from their shows, at any cost. But hey, if you want to ignore my warning, that’s okay. After all, it’s only Girl Talk.

A few decent photos (there weren't many):

Money Trick








Panther

Girl Talk








The Whore Wound:

Day One: Melvins

I’ll start by outlining my original plan for the weekend, Friday to Sunday: Friday, I was to see Dark Knight with bandmates Kai and Jordan, and then we were going to a birthday dinner. Following that, we would go to his house and crash, then I would leave Saturday to meet up with other friend Lindsey to see Girl Talk. Sunday, I would sleep at my own leisure, and go to The Hold Steady with Kai and Cara. Two shows in a row? I must be crazy.

But, it gets much, much more crazy. I mentioned the fact that grunge rock elder gods The Melvins were coming to town. She asked why I wasn’t going.
“Logically, I could, because I do have the money for it…” I stated.
“Then go with logic!” she told me.

And go with logic I did. The next day I made my way over to the nearest Ticketmaster location, paid a goodly salesperson $22 for my ticket, and was on my merry way, safe in the knowledge that I am going to die this weekend.

And thus marks a personal music festival of sorts: three shows in three days, and three acts that I have wanted to see for a good, long while. It is to be a celebration of life, happiness, and damn good music. And, to go with these shows, I have decided to review each show, and create a real-time account of what three shows in three days does to a person. But, enough banter. What about them Melvins?

I arrived at Portland’s own Wonder Ballroom 15 minutes before the show was scheduled to begin. Just in time! I took my place at the front, played with my camera, and waited anxiously for this group called Big Business to start shit off.

But, Big Business was, of course, not the first act up, as is usual. Instead, a man with a guitar came to a soundboard, and started playing it. Then came a drummer, who started playing as well. Finally, a man with a strange soundboard (manipulated by laser pointer more than knobs themselves) knelt on the floor near the drum kit. And for 25 minutes, give or take, these three men played an endless experiment in shoegaze-esque noise music, involving a great deal of sludge, and a lot of distortion.

At the end of their set, I turned to three boys behind me (who I talked to before this set) and said, predictably, “What the fuck was that?!” “I don’t know, but I liked it,” said one of the boys. After marveling over their sign for a few moments, another turned to me and said the words to shut me up. “It’s just noise. That’s what it is.” And so it was. (Note: the band in question, I discovered, is called Porn.)

Next up was Big Business, who wailed through another 30 minutes of set time, complete with a Tim Harrington-esque bassist/frontman Jarred Warren. I had not heard this band before seeing them live, so I had no idea what to expect. Two songs into the set, the mosh pit built itself, and I, naturally, got the heck into it. It was, to say the least, fairly brutal.

And then… Melvins. There’s not a lot that can be said about a Melvins show that hasn’t been said by the people who have been lucky enough to experience them in the last 20 years. Frontman Buzz Osborne is 44 now, and even if he isn’t the oldest dog in the game, he’s old enough that he should logically be past his prime. Don’t tell that to King Buzzo, though. Dressed in a toga and with his hair as insanely frizzy as it is gray, the band took the stage and let flow a torrent of noise of the highest order. Admittedly I am not quite “with it” when it comes to Melvins, but I couldn’t help but be awestruck by the bile-filled noise that came from the dual screaming of Osborne and bassist Jarred Warren (back, and dressed in a toga as well), and twin drums of Coady Willis and Dale Crover, who lock together and pound everything out in double time. When everything fuses together, the spew that swells from the band is the kind of noise that will make you beg for the end, even though it becomes a plea for more. I can’t say that I was able to fully experience the performance of the band, as I found it impossible to escape the ever-growing mosh pit (and really what grunge show is complete without a mosh pit?), which pulled me deeper and deeper, no matter how many times I tried to escape.

I was forced to leave the venue early, but I was compelled to halt my retreat when I heard the band stop the caterwaul to unleash one of the more bizarre things of the evening: the national anthem. I couldn’t help but feel inspired by Osborne and Warren’s grunge cover of the nation’s anthem, and it just goes to show that, even if you’ve been in a game that encourages nihilism and dissent, it’s still possible to show some love for your country. I really couldn’t tell you if they did it for laughs or because they truly love America, but either way, it was a nice way to close out an evening, as I left the club, smiling, as the harbingers of doom on stage flung themselves into another song.

REVIEW: Nine Inch Nails - The Slip

“Hey, we have a new album out now… want it? Give us your email address and we’ll totally send it to you, if you want…”

Basically, since the end of September when Radiohead decided to put out their new album, free of charge (temporarily), a lot of bands have decided to follow in their footsteps and be the mixtape guy we all know who’ll totally burn you Band A’s new album if you want. Being that girl, I can relate to the psychology behind it easily enough: “I like this, and I think you would, too, so I’ll give it to you, if you want it.”

I got home from a long day today and checked one of my favorite places ever, The Leakage Channel, the website responsible for my copy of the Silver Jews album that isn’t out until July, the last Iron & Wine album three months early, and one of the best albums of the year so far, Narrow Stairs, the newest Death Cab for Cutie record. I log on to see something about Nine Inch Nails, so I click it, expecting a new song or something from Ghosts I-IV, the 1 hour 50 minute instrumental album that Nine Inch Nails put out earlier this year. But what do I find? Oh look it’s a new album!

When Radiohead decided to take the route of allowing fans to freely download their album, it’s all any review could talk about. Indeed, I expect, in the coming week, every review of The Slip (so this album is called) will mention the (originally) unconventional means of release, and probably mention Radiohead somehow. But what of the album, you may ask?

Nine Inch Nails has always been a band that’s near and dear to my heart, and thus it excited me to have a new album to drool over in my hot little hands (or, hot little laptop, as the case may be), and I currently sit listening to it my first time through, and I enjoy what I’m hearing a lot. Since their last (actual) album, Year Zero, I’ve felt that as Reznor has gotten on in years, he’s shaken the “fuck everyone!” mentality that has made him who he is.

Though Year Zero may have had this tone to it (being a concept album about a dystopian future, which NIN has always seemed to be the soundtrack to), he has become more focused with his rage. On this, The Slip, he seems to have shaken most of this as well, in favor of something more wonderful. Though it is undoubtedly a Nine Inch Nails record, Reznor has taken to being more organic: though still chaotic and tweaky, underneath this is a lot of beauty in how it feels as though the record is unfolding in front of you, slowly evolving and taking its very own path, which may or may not be the same the next time around.

The best example of this, on my first go through, is what feels to be the album’s centerpiece, an instrumental track called “Corona Radiata.” Starting off ambient, the song feels as though it’s growing: a guided tour of a drug trip, it’s hard to write about, because when listening to it, all I want to do is lay back in my chair, close my eyes, and feel it grow around me. Much of the last of The Slip feels like this. As said, it is undeniably a Nine Inch Nails album, but at times, it’s easy to forget exactly who Nine Inch Nails are, and why they are Nine Inch Nails.

Listening to this, it’s easy to forget that this is part of a genre called Industrial, for this very reason. When you listen, it doesn’t feel industrial at all, but it feels like a living, breathing entity, something much more splendorous than the sterility that may or may not come with the genre. Reznor has certainly not lost all of the heaviness that has become a staple of his music, but he now incorporates a very human element in, by seemingly allowing things to take their own path and not planning it out. It’s entirely fitting that, in the closing track, “Demon Seed,” Reznor sings, “I can feel it growing, and I can feel it breathe.” It feels as though he decided to simply let the production of the record stay fluid, and see how it would sound if he, instead of going from Point A to Point B, simply took a stroll and went where his feet (or his sound board) took him.

The Slip, during this first glance of the album, is undeniably very, very good. It’s hard to say how this album will be received by the community at large, but for me, I would be pleased if Reznor continued on this artistic path, and make music that feels as though it made itself, rather than doing everything himself. Since the release of Pretty Hate Machine, it’s been clear that Nine Inch Nails is not merely a band, but an artistic force that should not, under any circumstances, be stopped, and I don’t know about anybody else, but this (and his most recent efforts, namely Ghosts I-IV) is the proof I needed.

LIVE REVIEW: Death Cab For Cutie's Narrow Stairs

I currently don’t have internet, so usually daily, I head to the end of my block and set up shop in the library of Portland Community College, to write a few emails, and catch up on things. Make plans, so on. Today, I hopped on, and got on a favorite site of mine, The Leakage Channel, which is a wonderful little corner of the world to come across leaks of albums that should not be heard by common ears, just yet.

I opened the site to find Narrow Stairs, the long-awaited follow up to Death Cab For Cutie’s 2005 album Plans, staring me in the face. Now, I’m a big fan of Death Cab For Cutie. A week ago, I found the album cover staring me in the face, and I’m not lying when I say that this made my hair wet, I was so excited. I clicked on the link… only to find myself Rick Roll’d. Needless to say, I was annoyed.

However, today, it felt like the war was over, and I happily downloaded the new album, and came home to put it on. I decided that a record like this deserves a live, track-by-track review, and so, without further ado…

Death Cab For Cutie’s Narrow Stairs: Live

1. “Bixby Canyon Bridge”
I first heard this song recently in the bootleg of the 4/19 performance in Eugene, OR. The song blew me away completely, even in bootleg format. As I write this, I have tears in my eyes from how perfect and beautiful this song is. If this is any, and I mean ANY, indication of how perfect this album will be, I think Death Cab have really struck on something as perfect as what they touched on with Transatlanticism and Plans. The song packs a noisy breakdown, and after that breakdown, Gibbard’s voice comes back in, singing, “And then it started getting dark/I trudged back to where the car was parked/No closer to any kind of truth/as I must as assume was the case with you.” And, at this point, I’m glad I hadn’t put on mascara this morning.

2. “I Will Possess Your Heart”
The track we’ve all already heard by now, of course, somehow better than it was without “Bixby Canyon Bridge” before it. With a 4:35minute wordless intro, it seems weird when the instruments quiet down so that you can focus on Ben Gibbard’s voice. With a wonderful bass-line, a simple drum beat, and Ben’s piano at work, though this song may be a little much for some listeners (the song clocks in at 8:35), for me, everything is just elegantly perfect here.

3. “No Sunlight”
More grooviness. Demonstrating Chris Walla’s wonderful guitar work, and Gibbard’s sweet lyrics, I can see this becoming a personal favorite from the record. I don’t have much else to say about the song at this moment, but give it sometime, love, and I promise I’ll have more to say.

4. “Cath…”
To be honest I had gotten used to the acoustic version that was released some time ago. However, it does nothing to detract from the quality of the song itself. “As the flashbulbs burst,” Gibbard sings, “she holds a smile like someone would hold a cry child.” It seems, as these songs progress, that Gibbard has gotten good at writing about loneliness and sorrow, and it suits him perfectly.

5. “Talking Bird”
Lo-fi, much? A slow song with extremely simple instrumentals, and quiet vocals, it goes to prove what I said about Gibbard’s sorrow. I’m not truly sure who hurt Gibbard or why, or what happened between Narrow Stairs and its predecessor Plans, but it may very well have been the stroke of genius that he needed to pull off what I’m hearing.

6. “You Can Do Better Than Me”
An upbeat sounding song… “I’m starting to feel like we stay together out of fear of dying alone.” Almost feeling like the companion to Plans’ “Brothers on a Hotel Bed,” all I can think of is how well the upbeat instrumentals go with lyrics like “You can do better than me, but I can’t do better than you.”

7. “Grapevine Fires”
Almost feeling like a cut from The Photo Album, I think this is one of my favorite songs from this album, even though it’s barely into it. Singing about wildfire like the end of the world, and interacting well with the push-pull of the drum beat, the song demonstrates Gibbard’s simple song writing, and guitarist Chris Walla’s ability to create memorable, but never overpowering, guitar lines. Definitely a song to let wash over you.

8. “Your New Twin Size Bed”
“You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed/with a single pillow underneath your single head/I guess you decided that old queen was more space then you would need/Now it’s in the alley behind your apartment with a sign that says it’s free” – Again, more lonely pain from Gibbard, singing about a woman finally giving up on finding someone to share a big bed with. “It’s like we’re in some kind of hurry to say goodbye.” Here, the pain of Gibbard’s voice really seeps in, as if he’s written the song about himself, and not about another.

9. “Long Division”
Now the album picks up a little bit, reminding me greatly of “We Laugh Indoors,” right down to the repeat of a phrase. This is another song that feels like it would have been perfect on The Photo Album, and holy shit listen to that solo that Walla hammers out!

10. “Pity & Fear”
Holy shit. That’s really all I can say about this song. With another noisy breakdown (like that of “Bixby Canyon Bridge”), this song feels like Gibbard came to the band and said, “ALRIGHT! Let’s tear shit up!” and what came of it was this. “I have such envy for the stranger lying next to me/Who wakes in the night/who wakes in the night/who slips out into the pre-dawn light/no words, a clean escape/no promises or messes made/who chalks it all up to mistake, mistake, mistake. And there are no tears, just pity and fear. The vast reveal right in between.” The lyrics here are pained and you feel sorry for the person Gibbard sings on behalf of here.

11. “The Ice Is Getting Thinner”
Softly, now. “We’re not the same, dear, as we used to be,” sings Gibbard softly, and ever so fittingly. “The seasons have changed, and so have we.” Gibbard has always been the master of soft closers for his albums. Again, tears come to my eyes as Gibbard sings his weather-beaten and defeated song. “And the ice kept getting thinner, every word that we’d speak.” The song reminds me greatly of the slowly growing, hopeful yet pained air of Plans’ “Stable Song,” and Transatlanticism’s “A Lack Of Color,” another song demonstrating Gibbard’s loneliness and grief.

I now sit in complete silence, in awe of the record that I have just heard. I am probably very biased, due to the fact that Death Cab For Cutie is one of the few bands that I idolize, but I will tell you that, for once, MTV has it right. This is, without a doubt, the best thing that these boys have made, and I hope that this does even more for them than their last two albums, because if this album is any sign of what’s to come from Ben Gibbard and his merry men, they are going to be remembered for a very, very long time.