Stereolab
Chemical Chords
(4AD, 2008)

Stereolab songs are not unlike those brain-teasing object puzzles whose apparent symmetry you deconstruct only to discover innards of oddly shaped pieces somehow impossible to fit back together again, even with the instructions. Fortunately for us, the difference is that the fruit of songwriters Tim Gane and Laetitia Sadier’s craft comes ingeniously, translucently, and inseparably intact, our ears free to explore its interlinked layers and enjoy the bright sense of each as it relates to the rest without the buzz-killing Tetris-like task of disassembly and reassembly. That’s the game they deftly offer to their listeners—the challenge we flirt with in times of rapt concentration—and all with fluid forward momentum. Yet even without paying so much attention, Stereolab’s music remains a deceptively casual, generally pleasant coat of Escher-esque electric plaid that candies the air and prods the intellect with lyrics either in French or in English, sometimes obliquely political, sometimes just stimulatingly odd. Chemical Chords, the band’s 11th album (and umpteen-thousandth release overall), finds the Lab busy filling its high-tech, retro-futuristic gumball machine with spherical sweets of far poppier evenness and brevity than previous confections, sidestepping somewhat the melodic and structural idiosyncrasy that kept even their jingliest earlier work safely captivating. The result is a grab bag of decidedly direct little numbers that, while buoyant in their simplicity, are occasionally little more than buoyant.

In striving for pure pop, Gane wanted to rein in Stereolab’s tendency towards longer-form, eight-minute meanderings and concentrate more on density; it’s a Manhattanization of the pop song, as it were, building upwards to combat sprawl. He certainly achieves this density, with Lego-like bits of each melody snapping in from every available angle, then mixed to maximize every inch of stereophonic headspace. It’s about as dense, short, upbeat, and effervescent as ’60s-ish pop can get, yet rarely does its heft swell into bloat. Songs like the title track, with plenty of help from Sean O’Hagan’s lush string and brass arrangements, truly entreat a commitment from the listener. Yet even without the strings and brass (which saturate nearly throughout), as “One Finger Symphony” demonstrates, Gane fills the space just fine by his own means as well.

Countering—while also, in a way, contributing to—this melodic mass is a certain incessant bounce to the album: An energetic spring which runs from opener “Neon Beanbag” clear through to the end, and which, even for the perkiest of listeners, may present an obstacle to single-sitting listenability. The unsuppressed rhythmic cheer fastens the record to a much less neutral space than Stereolab has maintained in the past, making the whole thing an unfortunately mood-specific affair. Chords stays smart enough to avoid bouncing itself into a vacuum; however, it’s just too bouncy to be an “anytime” record. Depending entirely on just how curmudgeonly you are, it may never be more than a match only for fleeting moments, and even then, as familiarity matures, that elation may fade (i.e. in your initial excitement you may have fun playing Chemical Chords over and over at work, say, to raise spirits, increase productivity, etc.). Eventually, though, you may feel self-conscious in admitting through your actions that your concerns and/or desires are always so thoroughly bouncy. Later still, you may find that its relentless pep and repetition no longer harnesses your enthusiasm, and you’ll move on to the next pop excitation with which to annoy your coworkers.

This happy bop further dampens the album’s prospects by developing into a sing-songy sameness as songs go by, due in part to the songwriters’ frequent harkening to Motown on-the-beat rhythms and consistent (albeit indigenous to Stereolab) reliance upon percussively struck chords. All that said, there’s still much to be enjoyed within the purposefully small doses of these songs. They’re catchy as hell, after all. Whether you realize it or not, the xylophone hook of “Silver Sands” will irrevocably wriggle its way into your absent-minded whistling repertoire for months, along with many other addictive Chemical fragments. “Daisy Click Clack” brings in some much-welcomed piano, catchily offsetting the predominant organs of the rest of the album, just as “Pop Molecule (Molecular Pop 1)” introduces refreshing ideas of rock texture to the mix of patterns and repetition. Yet for those still hungry for the stuff of more old-fashioned Stereolab, it’s the straightforwardness towards the end of “Valley Hi!” that comes closest to taking us back.

It was over 10 years ago that Stereolab shifted away from its focus on textures, guitars, and subtle rhythmic variations in favor of the punchier, more structurally complicated and keyboard-intensive productions they’ve rolled out since at a swift clip. Their ever-evolving orientation around instrumental and melodic pattern interplay has long since supplanted the once sweeping transcendence of their fuzzier excursions, and hardened into a sort of jigsaw precision that’s always been fun, if considerably headier and at times seemingly systematic. The inside scoop on what made Chemical Chords fun for the artists was its process; the unconventional means by which each song was generated. Gane made loops out of fragments of musical thoughts, reversed, layered, and otherwise messed around with them until other ideas formed, then built upon each in layers until full songs were born. This reportedly led to melodies and structures that would not have come by the usual methods of brainstorming, and though the finished product reflects this avoidance of “jamming,” it doesn’t speak much to its spontaneity or novelty. Or longevity, for that matter. Like any good bubblegum, however, it’s great for when you’re in the mood for a sweet pick-me-up you can chew on, and stays great for as long as its flavor stays fresh.

Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]

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