Matthew Dear Albums (4)
'Don and Sherri'
Release Date 10/16/2007
Tracks 5
Label Ghostly International
See Album Tracklist and Review
What The Critics Say
Asa Breed furthers a seemingly happenstance shift to electronics-based indie pop that began on 2003's Leave Luck to Heaven and continued on 2004's Backstroke. Where the vocal tracks on those two albums sounded as if they began as instrumentals and just happened to benefit from lyrics and melodies thought up after the fact, there is an apparent deliberate attempt here at making songs. "Deserter" is the greatest example of Matthew Dear's gradual development as a writer, one of the most affecting songs he has made -- full of dazed textures, a very direct beat, and a typically disconnected vocal, it doesn't seem built to move the listener in any way, but it unexpectedly grabs hold, not unlike Wire's most subdued and straightforward material (such as "The 15th" or "Heartbeat"). One thing that hasn't changed is the elusiveness of the lyrics: most of them could mean anything, or perhaps nothing at all, and what seems tossed-off could have some profound subtext. No matter the amount of effort Dear put into his lyrics, the sounds he makes with his voice still take precedence. A little exposure to his constantly morphing flat baritone goes a long way, even though it is used in so many ways; there's barely intelligible gibberish, singsongy semi-sneering, exaggerated David Byrne deadpan, whiny whispering, and a few other methods used to convey stories, self-examination, and in-jokes. (With its resemblance to Japan's "Visions of China," "Shy" could use a David Sylvian impersonation, but that is not so easy to pull off.) Since producing dancefloor tracks remains Dear's most natural talent, a few of the album's songs would just happen to be effective as instrumentals when played in certain clubs; the likes of "Neighborhood," "Don and Sherri," and "Fleece on Brain," when stripped of vocals, sound just like typical Dear productions, but they do bend toward the need of the song. If there is an unexpected aspect of the album, it's within the last quarter of the program, where there are three scruffy songs dominated by acoustic guitar. Lurching and rumbling away, Dear sounds in need of shade and water, susceptible to being knocked over by some stray tumbleweed. ~ Andy Kellman, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
If you're attempting to keep tabs on Matthew Dear, Backstroke arrives eight months after Leave Luck to Heaven; during the time between these releases, he produced two more singles for Spectral Sound (including one as the relatively hostile Audion) and another for Richie Hawtin's Minus label (as False), in addition to remixes for Monobox, Lusine, and Håkan Lidbo. By today's silly standard, Backstroke is being classified as a mini-LP, even though it's 40 minutes in length. (The LP version has one less track and is still longer than your AC/DC or early Prince records.) Whatever its designation, Backstroke is a marked turn away from Leave Luck to Heaven, if scarcely a stylistic changeup. Several cuts will indeed serve adequately in the clubs, but the album as a whole is tailored for a more personal setting. "Grut Wall" is an instant standout, one of the handful of instances where Dear continues to tweak the traditional pop-song format. Backward-sounding basslines, cascades of battered keyboard melodies, and multi-tracked vocals make it askew enough to make you feel as if you've just spent too much time on a sit 'n' spin, but the hooks are equally important -- it's the strangest and catchiest song he has made yet. On "Tide," everything is tangled up with great intricacy and is nearly as insidious and addictive when balled together, assisted by another refrain that could double as a playground taunt. The closing "And in the Night" is the greatest diversion, a chaotic Afro-German hybrid that crosscuts Dear's natural rigid bounce with a muffled disco rhythm section and shards of horns. The chances he takes pay off almost without exception, but the album doesn't have the easy-fit cohesion of Leave Luck to Heaven, and the dispassionate vocals that surface here and there won't be for everyone. (During "I Know Howser"'s verses, he sounds like he'd rather be folding laundry or sorting recyclables.) Some will see this as the Amnesiac to Leave Luck to Heaven's Kid A. There really isn't anything wrong with that. ~ Andy Kellman, All Music Guide
'Leave Luck to Heaven'
Release Date 11/4/2003
Tracks 12
Label Spectral Sound
See Album Tracklist and Review
What The Critics Say
A Jabberjaw 12" on Perlon, a False compilation on Plus 8, two EPs on Spectral Sound, and now this. An album with a title worthy of Douglas Sirk -- or perhaps a rough English translation of the name of a Japanese video-game company -- Leave Luck to Heaven indicates that Matthew Dear was saving the best of his 2003 artillery for the end of the year. Formatted like a pop record intended for home listening, with most tracks falling somewhere in the four- to five-minute range, Leave Luck to Heaven has a flow unlike any other single-artist microhouse album to date. This is far from a handful of dancefloor-intended tracks apprehensively slapped onto a disc for a more private form of consumption. Vocal tracks -- whether containing verses and choruses or samples reduced to vapor -- are as common as instrumentals, and for every track with a 4/4 foundation, there's an upbeat pop song based around a sharp keyboard melody. "Dog Days" is where it all peaks, falling somewhere between the two approaches to devastating effect. No micro-pop-house single is as singsongy, as loose in the limbs, as springboard buoyant; Dear's baritone, followed tightly by his near-falsetto, rides the contours of a mass of wriggling keyboard tendrils, stabs of synthetic trumpet, an attenuated millisyllable ground into hiccups, and a rhythm that swings with a periodic Teutonic jack. Dear's voices repeat an elliptical four-line nursery rhyme several times over, all of which adds up to one of the most exciting and most unique singles of the year. From the introduction onward, the amount of depth the album is able to build is only increased -- each track is essential to the whole. Rather than end it all on a joyous note, Dear opts to use the spot for the heaviest moment on the album. One of the best vocal tracks, "It's Over Now" expresses equal doses of fear and resentment in the face of impending war ("Kill all those f*ggots/Move on, don't stop"). The album closes out an exceedingly accomplished year for the producer. It also defines microhouse as much as it defies it, all the while carrying the baton for high-caliber, heartfelt techno-pop. ~ Andy Kellman, All Music Guide
