What’s your biggest problem with rock today? Is it too derivative? Too loud? Is it overdone, all about sex, boring, incoherent, or too artsy fartsy? Whatever your woes may be, I think it’s pretty hard not to see the appeal of a good old party band. Look at Art Brut, singing about a surprisingly foreign subject... rock 'n' roll. Let’s stop singing about true love and just have fun with ourselves for a bit.
This may be the answer, suggests Luca Giulio Maolini, the writer, studio performer, and brain of The Old Soul. The Old Soul’s self-titled debut LP, released on Friendly Fire and licensed by Universal Music Canada, is a brave attempt at doing just that. Maolini, in his minimal liner notes, offers love to a bunch of people, including “you, ya hippy! Party.” Now Luca, I really don’t appreciate being called a hippy, but I like your attitude, so let’s see what we got.
The album begins with an intriguing pop tune, “P Is For Protein.” This track sets the tone for the rest of the disc, as section after section of relentless swagger, an abundance of horns, and a sometimes forced groove persist. Like most of the album, catchy and quirky sections are mixed with cliché, making for a big bag of trail mix from which the listener is forced to pick out the M&Ms (charming shout choruses), nibble a few raisins (borderline corny drum hits), and spit out the stale nuts (accelerated-yet-still-boring instrumentals).
Maolini often seems like he could be the next Wayne Coyne, but despite his careful study of The Flaming Lips’ synthetics, obligatory instrumentals and bizarre lyrics, the ruse only gets him so far. And speaking of lyrics, either I’m completely missing the point, or there’s a pretty strong undercurrent of unchained coital desire throughout this whole album. From the overpowering celebration on “Shotgun Wedding” to the opening of “River of Daughters” (I’d love you in the water naked/ You were looking much hotter/ cleaning clams for your daughter/ rather than rearranging your locker), there are at least a few moments that would make me hesitant to flip this on to entertain a mixed crowd.
One of the key differences between The Old Soul and The Flaming Lips is the essential structure that is usually cohesive in the latter, but sometimes not the former. Such random instrumentals thrown in between kick-ass verses only deaden the feel. Delicious analog electronics at the beginning of “Boobie Trap” die out only to return for a few precious seconds at the end of the track. What gives! I don’t want a silly, slowed-down polka verse in the middle of “Robert Wyatt.” The wonderful bohemia of “Nectar of the Nitwit” could be twice as powerful amidst a tightened-up tracklisting. The good stuff is in there; it’s just time to take out the filler.
It’s hard to hold much against a band of 10 people who claim to be able to set up in five minutes and who can get away with doing a rocked-out version of The Beach Boys’ “Vege-Tables.” Maolini reports that even Van Dyke Parks himself liked his cover, so I guess that means you probably should too.
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