Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti
Before Today

THE REVIEW

Even with this latest "Before Today", Ariel Pink has not dispelled the doubt whether he is truly a pop master or just a very skillful collector of other people's sounds; and indeed, this could have been the right time to reveal whether his talent is absolute or tied to the clever manipulation of already known atmospheres: new prestigious label (the 4AD), super production by Sunny Levine - he's Quincy Jones's grandson, for goodness' sake! - and the necessary calm (two years since the last work) to produce the album of change.

Perhaps though this is another missed opportunity: he indeed offered the same low-fi pop we already know, thus demonstrating that his is a deliberate carelessness, independent of the means available.

Despite the album flowing wonderfully among delightful pop debris, it is difficult for me to get fully involved with these tracks; there are too many resonances with music already heard and, what’s worse, with elusive sounds: you never really know whom he's citing, and it causes, in those who've seen a lot come and go, a sense of frustration for being unable to categorize his sound once and for all. Could this be a deliberate effect? I certainly think so, Ariel Pink is to be taken as he is, or left.

"Before Today", rather than coming from obscure corners of the underground, draws from everywhere: from certain low-grade MTV videos or, better yet, Videomusic; from the most bland and flashy mainstream and the sappy AOR; it sets no limits, unearthing sounds from both new wave and English progressive rock.

This is how "Bright Lit Blue Skies" - the leading track - sounds like the Ramones transplanted in the "Girls Group '60s" era; "L'estat" is Canterbury school in Syd Barrett sauce as if composed by Burt Bacharach; "Fright Night (Nevermore)" - another good track - is bathtub pop that most closely resembles previous inventions from "House Arrest". On the less refined side, there's "Beverly Kills", z-grade disco music that not even the Vanzina brothers would use for their soundtracks; "Can't Hear My Eyes" is a sonic atrocity from the '70s ripped straight from "You Can Do Magic" by America. The intriguing "Butthouse Blondies", a melodic hard rock in the style of Boston or something similar, I don't know if it's related to the bed and breakfast or, which intrigues me more, with certain Californian VHS tapes that I know, the ones rented discreetly in the special compartment behind the curtain: from the background moans I would lean towards the second hypothesis. The last piece is "Revolution's a LIE" pure '80s English new wave, specifically the Comsat Angels of "Independence Day".

In conclusion, the album passes with good grades but also with a reservation: next time he needs to detach from indiscriminate revival and produce real music: all right, he's a genius but it's time he does something truly his own if he doesn't want to be quickly forgotten. The question is whether he is truly capable of doing so.