You could never accuse Spoon of chasing trends or flashing in the pan. The Austin rockers have evolved subtly and deliberately over the last three decades, venturing in a straight line through the heart of Southern fried rock 'n' roll swagger since 1996's Telephono, growing slowly but surely in a laidback, self-assured manner befitting their trademark tousled nonchalance. In any given decade, an artist may rise and fall, but that's how long it took for the seeds of Spoon's psychedelia, planted on 2007's Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga, to fully bloom as they did on 2017's Hot Thoughts.
Spoon continue to deal in gradual changes on Lucifer on the Sofa, their 10th album. Positioned as a comparatively stripped-down, back-to-basics affair, what it loses in texture it adds in newfound vulnerability, following up Hot Thoughts' youthful lust with the vulnerability of fresh love, pushing its foregrounded psychedelia into the margins and letting emotions fill the space.
The band's largely no-frills, playfully cool rock music has typically kept feelings at an arm's length, opting for vague abstractions over anything particularly soul-baring. Here, the band aim for the heart, and the resulting tracks are some of their most relatable, direct material. It's apparent from the very first number, a cover of Smog's "Held" (which has appeared in Spoon set lists as far back as 2004) in Spoon's business casual style. The words may not be Britt Daniel's, but the iconic Bill Callahanisms sound fitting in his signature scratchy howl: "For the first time in my life / I let myself be held / Like a big old baby."
The catharsis seeps into the rest of the album. In contrast to the "Small Stakes" Spoon sang about on the opening track to 2002's Kill the Moonlight, Lucifer succeeds when it embraces the heft of new love, relying on the textures of recent albums to help carry the weight on tracks like "My Babe," "Astral Jacket" and "Satellite." Sparer arrangements and slower tempos show Spoon embracing vulnerability, relying on charmed storytelling over their typical too-cool-for-school self-assurance. Where safer album cuts like "Feels Alright," "Wild" and "On the Radio" opt for more-trodden territory, coasting on the strengths of jangling guitar hooks, there's a refreshing vulnerability when Daniel drops the doe-eyed "You got angels above you / I know I love you more" on "Satellite."
When you have something worth treasuring, that means you have something to lose, and it gives Spoon's moodier, more tense songs a hardened edge. "The Devil and Mister Jones" and the title track — in what is surely not a coincidence — are both teeming with devils and other shadowy threats lurking about, with the latter veering straight into foggy, horn-dappled paranoia like the soundtrack to a neo-noir. The endless fight against bad-faith actors has long served as a recurring element in Daniel's lyrics, and the way that they serve as a potent counterpoint to the hope and commitment of the album's more lovelorn tracks elevates the album's world-building, adding storytelling strengths to the mix.
Spoon's deliberate, earnest shifts in sound and subject matter continue to make them one of the more compelling and consistent older-guard rock bands. By pairing their well-honed blues rock temerity with genuine emotional weight, Spoon continue to wring new ideas out of classic sounds without veering into gimmick, staying consistent without getting stale. By slowly introducing the idea that it's cool to care, Spoon continue to expand their comfort zone.
(Matador Records)Spoon continue to deal in gradual changes on Lucifer on the Sofa, their 10th album. Positioned as a comparatively stripped-down, back-to-basics affair, what it loses in texture it adds in newfound vulnerability, following up Hot Thoughts' youthful lust with the vulnerability of fresh love, pushing its foregrounded psychedelia into the margins and letting emotions fill the space.
The band's largely no-frills, playfully cool rock music has typically kept feelings at an arm's length, opting for vague abstractions over anything particularly soul-baring. Here, the band aim for the heart, and the resulting tracks are some of their most relatable, direct material. It's apparent from the very first number, a cover of Smog's "Held" (which has appeared in Spoon set lists as far back as 2004) in Spoon's business casual style. The words may not be Britt Daniel's, but the iconic Bill Callahanisms sound fitting in his signature scratchy howl: "For the first time in my life / I let myself be held / Like a big old baby."
The catharsis seeps into the rest of the album. In contrast to the "Small Stakes" Spoon sang about on the opening track to 2002's Kill the Moonlight, Lucifer succeeds when it embraces the heft of new love, relying on the textures of recent albums to help carry the weight on tracks like "My Babe," "Astral Jacket" and "Satellite." Sparer arrangements and slower tempos show Spoon embracing vulnerability, relying on charmed storytelling over their typical too-cool-for-school self-assurance. Where safer album cuts like "Feels Alright," "Wild" and "On the Radio" opt for more-trodden territory, coasting on the strengths of jangling guitar hooks, there's a refreshing vulnerability when Daniel drops the doe-eyed "You got angels above you / I know I love you more" on "Satellite."
When you have something worth treasuring, that means you have something to lose, and it gives Spoon's moodier, more tense songs a hardened edge. "The Devil and Mister Jones" and the title track — in what is surely not a coincidence — are both teeming with devils and other shadowy threats lurking about, with the latter veering straight into foggy, horn-dappled paranoia like the soundtrack to a neo-noir. The endless fight against bad-faith actors has long served as a recurring element in Daniel's lyrics, and the way that they serve as a potent counterpoint to the hope and commitment of the album's more lovelorn tracks elevates the album's world-building, adding storytelling strengths to the mix.
Spoon's deliberate, earnest shifts in sound and subject matter continue to make them one of the more compelling and consistent older-guard rock bands. By pairing their well-honed blues rock temerity with genuine emotional weight, Spoon continue to wring new ideas out of classic sounds without veering into gimmick, staying consistent without getting stale. By slowly introducing the idea that it's cool to care, Spoon continue to expand their comfort zone.
