John Vanderslice
Emerald City

I would have liked to start this review with a nice rant about the low (but very low) level into which dear old DeBaser is recently declining, but it would have been like biting the hand that feeds me: "So true, but the hand is mine and I do what I like with it!", Paolo Rossi would have said. Only I'm not Paolo Rossi, so I limit myself to being amazed by the fact that there's nothing on John Vanderslice on DeBaser and I invite you to spend less time on the pointless jokes that feel like shooting fish in a barrel...

There's this blonde American indie-rocker who's been around for about 10 years producing albums of deadly perfection, in which every single note is perfectly placed, with his polished sounds, but not lacquered, dark, restless, damn rock. He's not the classic "young man" with a T-shirt and a playful smile on his face. He laughs little, I'd say. He doesn't scream, he doesn't mess up the sounds. He's very focused. When his gentle hand rests on my head, I can't help but wag like a dog, and then find myself in the midst of a "The Parade" where amidst the folds of a refrain, you'll clearly hear echoes of John Lennon's "Imagine." Now this might seem daring, but there's plenty of talent here, so the comparison stands.

The latest creation of a career that has seen much critical acclaim (especially with the previous "Pixel Revolt" from 2005), this "Emerald City" may have lost some cerebralness and pushed much more on the accelerator of accessibility, which for an artist of this caliber doesn't mean you'll start whistling one of his melodies (although that's likely), but all your synapses won't manage to stay inactive following his music. Nine long tracks - 4 minutes on average - make it clear that it takes the necessary time to express oneself, fortunately completely avoiding prolixity. The sounds favor low notes and minor tones, and in this stylistic figure, they strive to be as varied as possible: with a predominantly guitar imprint, it moves from acoustic to electric, through electronic, from the nocturnal and claustrophobic (almost trip-hop) atmospheres of "Tablespoon Of Codeine" to the psyco-folk ballad "Kookaburra", which with the rhythmic "Time To Go" is a decisive one-two punch opening. The piano that falls like magic dust in the aforementioned "The Parade", gives way to the electric flow of "White Dove", with a restless text that oozes pain. Then come episodes slightly below the (very high) average of this opening quintet, ending with the dreamy piano notes of "Central Booking", with its slow progress that then becomes majestic.
In all this flowing of good music, the well-defined personality of the author is very present, which further favors him: placing this work in his discography, it feels perfectly in line and consistent with a maturation process that has practically reached its peak. The lyrics are very beautiful, balancing between eschatological reflection and simple depiction of restlessness, so if you liked Bat For Lashes or the new Thurston Moore, don't miss out on this little gem.