John Vanderslice
muses about family and pseudo fantasy on
Cellar Door
, his fourth solo album. He's comfortable inside the sputtering sonics of the understated
indie rock
universe he and collaborator
Scott Solter
have assembled; it is assemblage, after all, since
Vanderslice
's pristine production -- when applied to his own songwriting -- acts as enormous and super-sharp ghost scissors, snipping, trimming, and carefully carving curves and swirls into a
pop
paper crane both delicate and dark. He patiently puts buzzing keyboards up against tense, ringing electric guitars and percussive overtures (
"Coming and Going on Easy Terms"
) and begins the album with blurts of backmasked and treated acoustic guitar over whining drums (
"Pale Horse,"
which suggests the heady, off-kilter
of pals
Spoon
), through it all mulling the meaning of familial relationships and dwelling in places or on characters that drift in the margins of reality.
is a prison guard, a door gunner, or the junkie offspring of a gone-bananas mother. In the pretty, desperate
"They Won't Let Me Run,"
he's an angry man cuffed to his last name's legacy; inside the
electronic
throb of
"Up Above the Sea,"
he's a reluctant hunter, unwilling to kill but wondering what will happen if he does. "Everyday the bluebird comes down," he sings. "Can't figure out if he brings me luck/Or if he's trying to tear me down." These story-songs of
's have a
Smog
quality about them, as do their persistently unique blend of instrumentation, style, and flair for a subtle hook. Like
Bill Callahan
,
's lyrics often unfold in the first person, but frequently leave actual identities in the shadows. There's inescapable warmth and hope in the surging strings and descending chorus melody of mid-album standout
"Promising Actress."
But what about those unsettling chimes that run through it, and words of a gun and a mysterious cowboy? These at-odds questions make the listener queasy, but dizzy with enjoyment. In the end, listening to
is like feeling happy upon hearing the tiny plinks of a childhood music box, only to grow uneasy as the unexpected memories twist into creepy deja vu. Another impossibly creative and consistently satisfying offering from one of
's most prolific personalities. ~ Johnny Loftus