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Desire Lines –
Camera Obscura
Devotees of Camera Obscura’s doomed romantic metaphysics
have been well-looked-after for a while now.
For just as long, however, the narrators of Tracyanne Campbell’s songs
have been sick with them to the back teeth:
too sad and awkward to reciprocate your love, and then sad about that,
too. It is a “so sad, oh well,”
conundrum, and had her voicing of it not been so utterly serene, a listener or
two along the way might have despaired as well.
As it has gone, however, despair has traditionally been
impossible among Camera Obscura listeners, because the impossible-love
paralysis of the lyrics has always arrived cloaked in world-class beauty. The band consistently write the best songs in
indie pop, and it hasn’t been a close contest for a while now. From Let’s
Get Out of This Country forward, we have been living Peak Era Camera
Obscura. So, onward: to now.
Actually, first, about the beauty techniques: there weren’t many destinations further down
the Wall of Sound Highway charted by the band’s last two albums. By the high points of My Maudlin Career, the band had dialed up the socially-acceptable pop
song reverb levels to “blaring.” It
worked: that album’s songs, although
they frequently sounded like they were recorded in a fish tank with a single tiny
microphone, were winners. The final
product sounded older than old, while the lyrics did a good job of freshening
that aged sound with the distemper of youth.
The trends all combined to make Desire Lines something of a puzzle to consider before it actually
arrived. Would the forthcoming album include
more distortion? Or more of the
same? Or would it back off in a way that
doesn’t seem like a retreat?
And then the first shambling notes of “This is Love (Feels
Alright)” render the entire dilemma moot. The leadoff track (after a brief orchestral
intro) ranks among the band’s career high points, and it is a full emotional quantum
beyond, um, maudlin. The dress is now semi-formal. Ties are undone. Heels kicked off. Jackets draped over empty chairs. (You can see the “Before” pic in the band’s
album liner picture. And then you can
hop in a cold shower.) Most of the crowd
have left the banquet hall, and Camera Obscura--older, smarter, and sounding
very much like they love breathing the rarefying air of age--are playing for
the love of the notes.
The narrator is the taunting target of an unlucky fellow’s
dalliance. This is not the stuff of
emotional paralysis; it is the arch of a Cheshire grin. “You are a good boy / She’s a killer tease /
You are both so deserving / You are both keen to please.”
Musically, this cocksure version of Camera Obscura has newly
alighted upon a power line strung up between now and a generator from 1973. At several points in Desire Lines, songs relax into simple and mellow, but propulsive 70’s-style
rhythms. The other word for these: grooves.
There are a minimum of three tracks featuring said
caramelized rhythms, and the first follows “This Is Love.” The teasing coquette of the leadoff track is
once again purring into the mic, but this time about her own doomed
relationship: “You want to build fires
on hot days / Feel the coolness of my gaze / I’m a troublemaker.”
“Troublemaker” brings forward two significant Desire Lines themes: the first is a preoccupation with “coolness”
(not cool as in “Fonzie,” but rather cool as in “nonplussed”—a word that should
be cross-referenced “see: Campbell, T.,
Ms.” in the OED.) The second theme is the
forward grind of time that besieges the very-nearly-almost-middle-aged.
From “Troublemaker” again, the lament: “It’s going to be one hell of a year.” (It is indeed a lament—the couplet ends with
“Keeping secrets in water tight compartments, Dear.)” The slow escalation of time awareness is a
distinct characteristic of thirtysomethings.
A newfound tendency to refer to the future sardonically is another. Camera Obscura, welcome to adulthood.
The second track in the 1970’s trilogy, track 5 “New Year’s
Resolution” is the example most overtly draped in shag carpeting. And once again, time is of the essence. Or rather, the essence is of time:
New year’s
resolution – to write something of value,
New year’s
resolution – to write something would be fine
It isn’t just writer’s block concerns that are superimposed
over the passage of years. Not with this
band. Second verse: “New year’s resolution – to kiss you like I
mean it.” Another pretty taunt, serving up another helping of the subtle
anguish of stunted affection. A
brilliant guitar line pulls this track along, while keyboards and blushing
background vocals complete the vintage effect.
Really, the only things missing are the mustaches and long hair.
(The coolness isn’t missing, because it’s mentioned overtly,
again. From the chorus: “I’ve been cool with you / the sooner you
admit it, I will too.”)
The 70’s vibes are new territory for Camera Obscura, but
there are more characteristic versions of the band scattered elsewhere through Desire Lines. These include the lush balladry of “Williams
Heart” and “Fifth In Line to the Throne,” the spazzily libidinous leadoff
single “Do It Again,” and the lilting faux-apology of “I Missed Your
Party.” Really the only misstep is the
shapeless “Cri Du Coeur,” whose instrumentation and production are so far out
of proportion to melody as to recall an all-icing, no-batter cake. Overall, however: a welcome and gorgeous return, on-form and
on-point.
So how do the band elect to gild this palace of lilies? By transforming from Eagles into Byrds (or perhaps
Burrito Brothers) for the final, title track.
“Desire Lines” the song is well outside the band’s wheelhouse, and its
waves of pedal steel lap at a foreign, and gorgeous shoreline: California, and beyond. The self-consciousness washes gently
away: “I went to California / I needed
sun, I warned you,” and then,
Desire
lines sent me to Badlands,
But I am on
my way back now,
I’m going
to love you as I know how
It is a rare-as-blue-diamond glimpse of, well, desire—and
vulnerability. For all of the apparent coolness
measured out in controlled, mellow pace on Desire
Lines, the nature of this album, and the band, remain unchanged. The narrators of these songs remain as chilly,
bright, and prone to sudden fracture or meltdown as a latter-day glacier.
Keepers: 1, 2, 3, 4,
5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12
June 2013
