Spoon Albums (6)
What The Critics Say
"Attention to detail" doesn't necessarily sound like the secret ingredient to brilliant rock & roll, but in Spoon's case, it comes second only to inspiration. Britt Daniel, Jim Eno, and company keep finding ways to challenge themselves and their listeners by working within the same basic, streamlined sonic framework they crafted on Girls Can Tell, adding a few new twists here and there with each album. Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga just might be the most winning update on this approach since Girls Can Tell itself: each song is as carefully and creatively pruned as a bonsai tree, with nothing fussy or superfluous to mar the clean lines of the songwriting or arrangements. This is especially impressive considering that on this album, Spoon works with their widest array of sounds yet. Everything from kotos to chamberlains to horns straight out of Motown are fair game on Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga, but they're used so deftly and judiciously that they never feel like window dressing. As on Gimme Fiction, the band maps out Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga's territory within the first three tracks. "Don't Make Me a Target" is a sleek yet gritty prologue designed to draw listeners in like Fiction's "The Beast and Dragon, Adored," and its seductive pull only heightens the impact of "The Ghost of You Lingers." All pounding pianos and fleeting, fragmented verses, the song initially feels like it's all buildup and no release, but this insistent yet incomplete feeling is what makes it haunting and brilliant: its circling thoughts and echoes upon echoes feel like you're chasing the song -- or its subject -- to no avail. Even if "The Ghost of You Lingers" almost perversely avoids hooks, "You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb"'s homage to blue-eyed soul delivers them in abundance. Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga's songs are svelte, especially compared to Gimme Fiction, yet they're far from starved. Interesting details decorate the margins of these songs, whether it's the studio chatter that revs up "Don't You Evah" or the fascinatingly fragmented lyrics of "Eddie's Ragga" ("there ain't no getting over Joanie Hale-Maier"). Jon Brion pops up bass, chamberlain, and production duties on "The Underdog," one of Spoon's bounciest, brassiest nods to classic pop in a long time, and a perfect contrast to the exotic, spooky minimalism of "My Little Japanese Cigarette Case"'s shivery kotos and Spanish guitars. Concise and lively ("Black Like Me" is as close as the album gets to a ballad), Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga is a remarkable blend of focus and creativity; even if Spoon's modus operandi seems overly regimented on paper, the results are just as elegant as they are fun. ~ Heather Phares, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
The three-year stretch between Gimme Fiction and Spoon's previous album, Kill the Moonlight, was the longest gap between the band's releases since the end of its disastrous relationship with Elektra Records helped put two and a half years between A Series of Sneaks and Girls Can Tell. Though the circumstances behind this hiatus probably weren't as dire as those behind the band's previous one, the anticipation surrounding Gimme Fiction was nearly as high as it was for Girls Can Tell, and Gimme Fiction feels like as much of a refinement on what came before it as Girls Can Tell did at the time. A dark, theatrical album seething with late-night tension and menace, Gimme Fiction is a bigger-sounding affair than Spoon's previous work, with lots of keyboards, guitars, and strings parts courtesy of the Tosca Strings. But, even with the album's bigger scope, the band keeps its eye for detail. Everything about Gimme Fiction, from its artwork -- which looks like photographer Irving Penn doing a surreal fashion spread on Little Red Riding Hood for Vogue Magazine circa the 1950s -- to the little sound effects that embellish each song, is meticulous. Fortunately, "meticulous" doesn't spill over into "careful" or "precious"; the album's first three tracks show that Spoon makes music that's intricate and rousing at the same time. "The Beast and Dragon, Adored" acts as a slow-building preface and statement of intent, mentioning later song titles and introducing Gimme Fiction's big, brooding sound. "The Two Sides of Monsieur Valentine," a string-driven tale of a mysterious gentleman/cad, boasts some of Britt Daniel's cleverest storytelling, while "I Turn My Camera On" turns voyeurism and emotional distance into a subtly irresistible groove that sounds like a tense rewrite of the Stones' "Emotional Rescue" (later on, the intro of "They Never Got You" sounds strangely like Hall & Oates' "Maneater" -- it's nice to hear them reach back to '70s and '80s references that aren't the post-punk and new wave influences borrowed by so many other indie rock bands, or even the Elvis Costello nods that shaped so much of Spoon's earlier work). Gimme Fiction's opening trio of songs is so strong that it tends to overpower the rest of the album at first, but other standouts eventually bubble to the surface: "My Mathematical Mind" is one long verse, broken up by instrumental interludes where choruses would normally go; it keeps building and building, and though it's not an immediate song, it is a hypnotic one. On the other hand, the relatively lighthearted "Sister Jack" and pretty but oddly jittery acoustic ballad "I Summon You" just emphasize how moody and nocturnal the rest of the album is. Indeed, taut, restrained tracks like "The Delicate Place," "The Infinite Pet," and "Merchants of Soul" seem to be more about supporting Gimme Fiction's nocturnal mood than standing out as great songs. Still the interesting productions and arrangements on songs like these and "Was It You?" make them enjoyable in their own right. "Meticulous," "distant," and "restrained" may not be the most likely adjectives to describe a good rock record, but they fit Gimme Fiction perfectly. With this album, Spoon continues to build one of the most consistent, and distinctive, bodies of work in indie rock -- the band makes changes and takes chances from album to album, but ends up sounding exactly how Spoon should sound each time. ~ Heather Phares, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
Coming just a year-and-a-half after their triumphant return Girls Can Tell, Kill the Moonlight isn't so much a step backward as a step sideways, almost like a breather after the emotional and musical intensity of their previous album. It isn't surprising, really, that the group would choose to follow such a cathartic album as Girls Can Tell with a collection of tougher, leaner, and meaner songs like "All the Pretty Girls Go to the City," which sounds like the inverse of Girls' "Everything Hits at Once"; "The Way We Get By," a prime example of Spoon's smart, nervy rock; or the spare, spooky pop of "Paper Tiger" and "Someone Something." It is somewhat surprising, however, that Spoon managed to pare down their sound even more on Kill the Moonlight -- tracks such as "Small Stakes" and "Something to Look Forward To" are so stripped-down and sculpted that they're practically aerodynamic; the only problem is that they don't always take off from there. Still, even the album's sparest moments feature Spoon's much-heralded knack with catchy melodies and hooks, even if songs such as "Don't Let It Get You Down" would be even more memorable with a slightly more fleshed-out approach. Hints of this appear on the songs with unique production twists, such as "Stay Don't Go," which sports a human beatbox rhythm; on the distant backing vocals and baritone saxes of "You Gotta Feel It"; and on the album-closer, "Vittorio E.," an undulating, vaguely psychedelic ballad that finally gives the band's playing and songwriting the full treatment they deserve. Though the album's brittle immediacy is far from a disappointment, and the quick turnaround between Kill the Moonlight and their previous one is a treat for Spoon fans, one can't help but notice that this album just isn't as revelatory as Girls Can Tell. But even if the artistic course Spoon seems to be plotting is two steps forward, one step back, it's more than rewarding enough to enjoy every stop on the journey. ~ Heather Phares, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
Time may not exactly heal all wounds, but it can lend the perspective and strength to channel pain into something positive. Such is the case with Spoon; their perennial indie rock underdog status and disastrous stint on Elektra have focused and tempered the trio's brash energy instead of crushing it. Their third full-length, Girls Can Tell, reflects the group's lean, hungry stance in its spare, spiky, immaculately crafted songs. "Take the Fifth" and "Take a Walk" take Spoon's smart, bouncy, slightly tough signature sound to another level; while the ghosts of the Pixies, Nirvana, and Elvis Costello still haunt songs like "Lines in the Suit," Girls Can Tell's sharp wordplay, barbed guitars, and appealingly raw vocals prove that the group embraces their influences without becoming slaves to them. Britt Daniel's increasingly eclectic and expansive songwriting comes to the forefront on "Everything Hits at Once," a taut, brooding pop song driven by vibes, keyboards, yearning, and pride; "Me and the Bean" suggests the direction alternative/indie rock should have taken after Nirvana's implosion. This album is also Spoon's most emotionally eclectic collection of songs, ranging from "Anything You Want," a sunny pop song drawn with just a few artfully placed strokes to "1020 AM," a brooding, slightly psychedelic piece of folk-rock that recalls Daniel's Drake Tungsten side project. "This Book Is a Movie," an appropriately tense, filmic instrumental, and "Chicago at Night," a slightly spooky pop song with winding guitars and an off-kilter melody, complete Girls Can Tell, making it Spoon's most mature, accomplished work to date and a fine balance of fire and polish. ~ Heather Phares, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
With A Series of Sneaks, Spoon became one of the unsung heroes of the guitar-driven post-punk tradition inhabited by bands such as Wire, Gang of Four, Hüsker Dü, and the Pixies. These were the guitar wizards who could package a variety of taut, terse, and inventive guitar sounds and unpredictable melodies into short, tight bursts one could still consider pop songs. Lead singer and guitarist Britt Daniel acts as the overachieving honors student of this tradition, flushing the spaces in between with an expansive melodic vocabulary comparable to Robert Pollard's. But Sneaks wouldn't work if it were merely a repository of all the right influences. Thanks to John Croslin and the band's detailed production, shards of jagged guitar lines chime in from every direction, creating a language that blends with Daniel's charismatic vocal licks to form something so tuneful and compelling that the majority of Sneaks sticks in the brain just when you've thought you'd heard it all before. Daniel's voice can range from a throaty rasp to a falsetto to a spoken growl, peppered with some "bop-bop-bops," "c'mon's," and hand clapping. It's as if Jonathan Richman had been on SST Records, or even the old Sub Pop. But it's the production -- the constantly shifting vocal mixture and placement of Daniel's guitar, Joshua Zarbo's bass, and Jim Eno's drums around bits of melody -- that binds Sneaks into more than the sum of its parts. Amidst this kind of sonic engagement, it is the search for meaning in music amidst the open roads and open spaces of the American Southwest that form a central character in Daniel's fragmented and oblique lyrical universe. In a few brief lines, a drive to New York on the interstate becomes a meditation on rock and youth in "Car Radio," while "Metal School" seems to be a reassessment of the purpose of post-punk. Elektra, the major label that originally released the CD, must have reassessed its purpose too. The band was ditched soon after its release but has since reappeared on an independent label, Vapor (and again on Merge in 2002). The enthusiasm behind its resurrection and the anticipation of its full-length follow-up after the two years that followed is a testament to its strength. ~ Jonathan Druy, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
Amped-up acoustic guitars, jumpy song structures, and punk attitude combine in Telephono, the debut album from Austin's Spoon. Their girl-boy harmonies, spiky guitars, and soft-loud dynamic shifts recall the Pixies, and barring Kim Deal and Frank Black's reconciliation, Telephono is the next best thing to a reunion by that group. Short, energetic bursts like "Don't Buy the Realistic" and "Claws Tracking" have a raw, angry attitude missing in most alternative and indie music today, and the group's quieter moments like "Cvantez" and "Towner" have a directness that suits them well. Highlights include "Theme to Wendell Stivers," a fun, space-surf instrumental, and "Plastic Mylar," an entertaining, shiny pop song. While they're not the most original band, Spoon have created an enjoyably raw, punky album that only borrows from the best. ~ Heather Phares, All Music Guide
