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David Grubbs, "Rickets & Scurvy"
Gastr del Sol, with their complicated arrangements, electronic interludes, and guitar work drawn from obscure North American folk and rock influences, would have been more than qualified to take a marketable place amongst the identikit post-rock outfits doing the rounds in the mid-nineties. But instead of achieving Tortoise-proportioned recognition, they remained a relative obscurity, and perhaps part of the reason for that was David Grubbs's unique vocal and lyrical contribution.
Drag City (North America) / Fat Cat (Europe)
Without any conventional rock affectations, his delivery is plain, personal and a little nerdy. His lyrics are unabashedly intellectual, ranging from impenetrable abstraction to philosophical investigations into everything from time-zone changes to the qualities of light. So Grubbs drew Gastr del Sol, and now his solo work, away from easy categorisation as post-rock. Yet I like to think of Grubbs as the unintended voice of the post-rock movement: someone who had the guts to put its geekiness into words.
Following on from 1998's 'The Thicket' and 2000's 'The Spectrum Between,' this record improves on both: where the former was heavy with addition musical backing, and the latter placed most emphasis on Grubbs's guitar and vocals, the production here is a nice balance. When Grubbs played recently at The Spitz in London, with acoustic guitar and occasional laptop playback, these songs seemed bare and hurried. But here they're more relaxed, improved by a small backing band which consists of some the usual stars, notably John McEntire and Noel Akchote, as well as drummer Dan Brown and some understated electronic and field-recorded assistance from Matmos and Nicolas Vernhes.
The album opens with the poppy "Transom," which starts with Matmos's electronics, turning to fast-paced electric guitar, before almost rocking out at the end. But 'Rickets' consists mostly of contemplative, occasionally upbeat songs comparable to 'The Spectrum Between,' discussing such subjects as dreams, air-travel nerves, and other things that are pretty inscrutable, to be honest.
Later on, Matmos get the floor to themselves on the short instrumentals "Precipice" and "Crevasse". Then Grubbs closes the album with "Kentucky Karaoke," a beautiful piano solo over which he slowly intones a simple lyric, while the piano slowly warps under subtle processing. It's reminiscent of the Gastr classic "Eight Corners," and is easily my favorite solo Grubbs track: an excellent ending to a more than usually solid album.
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