It's easy to find a record stockpiled with buzzing guitars or brain-rattling beats. The challenge in these fast-paced, pedal-to-the-metal times is to discover music to kick back to, songs that call for reflection rather than embrace rowdiness. With Obsolescence, Dallas-based outfit Crushed Stars deliver the next great album to accompany your subdued moods. It's an album that blends pop sophistication with soulful songwriting, bringing to mind Big Star's Third, the Style Council and even Burt Bacharach.
The brainchild of multi-instrumentalist Todd Gautreau, Crushed Stars released its first album, Self Navigation, in 2001, a response to all the Nirvana clones that dominated the late 1990s rock scene. Gautreau had made his mark as an electronic musician in the vein of Brian Eno and Steve Reich, recording and releasing albums under the name Sonogram. (Check out the collection Substrates: Ambient Works 1995-1999.) But he'd maintained an interest in gentle pop, and he saw an opportunity. "Once all the loud guitar stuff died down I thought it was safe to pick up a guitar again and do what I always intended to do, make quiet bedroom guitar music," he says.
On Obsolescence, his first album for the Arena Rock Recording Company, he refines his approach, deftly weaving in subtle electronics and rolling rhythms. Recorded mostly in his home in Dallas, the disc finds him singing thoughtful, insightful lyrics over perfect, painstaking melodies. He layers vocal tracks to achieve an otherworldly effect ("For Someone With Amnesia"), wrings melancholy from his guitar strings ("Echoes of Astrid"), and relies on the simplicity of a piano figure ("The Answers Are Not Clear"). On the standout "Sleepyhead," Gautreau creates a wistful, astral aesthetic worthy of the band's name, with a roiling guitar riff and heartfelt singing reminiscent of Red House Painters. And he's not completely averse to stepping up the tempo, as he does on the propulsive "Rockets," which also shows off a knack for witty metaphor with lines like "Too many rockets at my window, and I've only got this one grenade."
Still, Crushed Stars' emphasis is atmospheric, minor-key pop, and this adherence makes for a consistent, entirely satisfying ride on the seesaw between gloom and hope. It's quiet and understated, just like the man who crafted it.
"Most people tell me I am quiet," Gautreau says. "I'm in my own head a lot, just thinking when I'm doing something else."
So what's the man behind Crushed Stars thinking about?
The answer's as straightforward as the songs on Obsolescence. "Music," he says.
The brainchild of multi-instrumentalist Todd Gautreau, Crushed Stars released its first album, Self Navigation, in 2001, a response to all the Nirvana clones that dominated the late 1990s rock scene. Gautreau had made his mark as an electronic musician in the vein of Brian Eno and Steve Reich, recording and releasing albums under the name Sonogram. (Check out the collection Substrates: Ambient Works 1995-1999.) But he'd maintained an interest in gentle pop, and he saw an opportunity. "Once all the loud guitar stuff died down I thought it was safe to pick up a guitar again and do what I always intended to do, make quiet bedroom guitar music," he says.
On Obsolescence, his first album for the Arena Rock Recording Company, he refines his approach, deftly weaving in subtle electronics and rolling rhythms. Recorded mostly in his home in Dallas, the disc finds him singing thoughtful, insightful lyrics over perfect, painstaking melodies. He layers vocal tracks to achieve an otherworldly effect ("For Someone With Amnesia"), wrings melancholy from his guitar strings ("Echoes of Astrid"), and relies on the simplicity of a piano figure ("The Answers Are Not Clear"). On the standout "Sleepyhead," Gautreau creates a wistful, astral aesthetic worthy of the band's name, with a roiling guitar riff and heartfelt singing reminiscent of Red House Painters. And he's not completely averse to stepping up the tempo, as he does on the propulsive "Rockets," which also shows off a knack for witty metaphor with lines like "Too many rockets at my window, and I've only got this one grenade."
Still, Crushed Stars' emphasis is atmospheric, minor-key pop, and this adherence makes for a consistent, entirely satisfying ride on the seesaw between gloom and hope. It's quiet and understated, just like the man who crafted it.
"Most people tell me I am quiet," Gautreau says. "I'm in my own head a lot, just thinking when I'm doing something else."
So what's the man behind Crushed Stars thinking about?
The answer's as straightforward as the songs on Obsolescence. "Music," he says.
