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DOUG
GILLARD - Salamander (Pink Frost)
Rating: 9.5/10
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Soon, it'll
be closing time for Guided By Voices. Last call is a New Year's
Eve show in Chicago that promises to be the indie rock social event
of the season, if not the decade. Afterward, Robert Pollard will
turn off the lights on the band's 20-year career and shoo the drunks
and other assorted hangers-on into the streets to serenade the city
like soused alley cats with rambling, off-key versions of "I
Am A Scientist" and "Tractor Rape Chain."
It hardly seems possible that anything could upstage such a momentous
occasion, but wouldn¹t you know it; one of GBV¹s own has
gone and done just that. Salamander is the first solo album from
guitarist Doug Gillard, and it¹s a revelation.
Some of that old Pollard magic must have rubbed off on him, because
Gillard has crafted a classic pop record, and I don¹t use that
term lightly. The songs of Salamander are elegant and beautifully
crafted, with a bittersweet flavor that owes as much to The Lemonheads
and The Pernice Brothers as it does to George Harrison, the Beach
Boys and the bands of the British Invasion Pollard idolizes.
It's the kind of album that makes you look at someone like Gillard
in a whole new light. No longer will people see him as simply a
sideman who can play a mean guitar. His plainspoken lyrics get highly
personal, revealing a depth and character he¹s only hinted
at before. Welcome to the big leagues, Doug. Take whatever jersey
number you want.
On the winsome opener "Valpolicella", Gillard sings, "It
sure feels good to have a moment of Divine." The whole song
is a little slice of pop heaven, from the gently swaying acoustic
guitar to the sweet "La, la, la, la, la, la, la" background
vocals and the unassuming charm of its infectious hooks. Salamander
seems to feed off Gillard's personality, adopting his sly Cheshire
cat grin in the lighthearted, buoyant pop bounce of "Me and
the Wind" and the brooding intensity of his stage presence
in the balls-out, angry acoustic strum of "Symbols, Signs."
Mostly though, Gillard is preoccupied with fading memories of people
and places that have left an impression on him; his lyrics are evidence
of the kind of wisdom that only comes with age ‹ not that he¹ll
be applying for his AARP card anytime soon. Stirring up echoes of
Beck¹s Sea Change, "The Cape And The Bay", with its
ocean spray melody and rich acoustic sweep, is a wistful look back
at a relationship that fell into emotional disrepair. On a drive
past that takes him past the water, the truth comes crashing down
on him and he sings, "Right there, it dawned on me that you
were blessed." And so are we, the listeners, awed by the arpeggios
Gillard plucks from his guitar ‹ the kind that remind of Pete
Townshend¹s more reflective moods. Somehow Gillard keeps them
from burying one of Salamander¹s prettiest melodies.
Nothing, however, compares to the closer, "(but) I See Something."
Rolling piano tides and Joshua Pollack¹s vibrant, plaintive
violins play together like laughing children who don¹t have
a care in the world. And yet there¹s a hint of regret in the
music that makes you wince ever so gently, as if you¹ve just
remembered something you did that caused someone else pain.
More folk-oriented than what you'd expect from someone whose solid-as-bedrock
electric guitar crunch injected some life into GBV in the band's
later years, Salamander offers up lithe, expressive acoustic textures
and soft beds of strings, tastefully arranged by Pollack, on the
ballads "Momma" and "Present." The songs are
tender odes to women who've touched his life over the years. Caught
in the longing undertow of "Present" are these lovely,
humble words: "Frequent is the day/ I'll turn to her and say:
Thank you for the years/ Your presence is still felt in here."
Anybody need a hanky?
After wiping away the tears, Gillard turns up his amps on the driving
anthem "Fate, Say It Again" and the sneering "Drip-Nose
Boy", biting guitar salvos that show that when Gillard wants
to rock, he still means business. His solos are masterful exercises
in restraint. He nestles them in the song instead of parading them
about to stroke his ego and that speaks to just how good he¹s
become at making music that¹s so fully realized, you wouldn¹t
want to change a note. That he plays all the instruments on Salamander,
except for Pollack¹s strings and the three songs where Superchunk
drummer Jon Wurster (also of Jay Farrar and Marah) plays on, makes
you appreciate Gillard all the more.
Salamander¹s brilliance shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone
who knows anything about Gillard's past. He's paid his dues, with
interest. Long before joining Pollard's merry band of drunken rock
n' roll misfits, Gillard was cranking out powerhouse guitar riffs
for Cleveland's Death Of Samantha, the 80's precursor to Cobra Verde.
Later, as part of Gem, he recorded "I Am A Tree", the
best song by far on the somewhat weak ‹ my opinion, for what
it's worth ‹ GBV record Mag Earwhig!.
Who knew back then that Gillard would have us basking in the glow
of one of the warmest, most endearing pop records in recent memory?
Salamander is music for that old man sitting in a rocking chair
on his porch, reflecting on a life filled with sorrow and joy. As
it all comes flooding back, he can¹t help but be amazed at
how it all unfolded, not in any preordained way but in a random
series of events that, by some twist of fate, worked out just as
they were supposed to. And there¹s somethingŠ wellŠ
perfect about that, no matter how many times you¹ve screwed
up. I¹m not sure that makes any sense, but I think you get
the idea. Gillard still has a lot of living to do and with any luck
he¹ll be making records like this for a long, long time. And
that¹s the kind of hope I cling to.
Reviewed by Peter Lindblad
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