Track Review - "Who Makes Your Money" by Spoon

Ah, Spoon...*sigh*

There is so much press about this album already (Transference), that I thought it was kind of silly to throw more drops of brine into that particular ocean. Instead, I chose one track to review, because it seems to perfectly (and awesomely) capture the effect of the album as a whole.





Nearly everyone who has reviewed this album has called to the forefront the sheer self-reference inherent therein. At least two that I have read have actually used the word "Spoon-iness" as a way to conjure up a feeling for the sort of unique, one-off yet truly polished sound this band can seemingly deliver on command. It is a more-than valid point, and while for most bands this kind of self-reference would be akin to a form of narcissism, in Spoon's case one gets the feeling that these four musicians in a room simply can't not make music that sounds like this. It is such a unique sounds that draws from so much (70's soft-rock, folk-revivalism, minimal electro, etc. in varying degrees) that it rightly sounds like something else that no one has yet done--I'd even go a step further and say it sounds like something no other band has really attempted. These are good things.



But along with having such a signature sound come all the trappings of everyone knowing what to expect. That's what makes this band so unique and accomplished: we know what to expect, and they still manage to blow us away.



The song begins with a one-handed key melody. It is casual; it is refined. The same melody persists basically throughout and doesn't undergo any significant changes until the final minute. So you have your foundation. The percussion is steady, no heavy riffing or crazy fills; a classic timekeeping beat that wouldn't be out of place in any one of a number of rock or R&B songs. And if it weren't so well recorded and produced, it might be unremarkable. But it is that well-done, and therefore is quite remarkable. The bass slinks like a snake while somehow managing to bounce as well, lilting with the melody and thudding when it needs to, culminating in a guitar/bass breakdown in the middle of the song that is like riding a Jeep through the desert with your hand out, letting the wind raise it up and down. And then there is Britt. No one else in rock music today has a voice like this--so seemingly thrown-off, confident to the point of being cocky, raspy and conversational yet able to work a falsetto that could make a wolverine purr. The lyrics in this song are quirky and get kind of repetitive: the titular question is asked more than a few times in lead vox and backing vox, I've listened to it quite a few times and am still not sure if it is about a working-class romance, a jilted lover, or a stylish pimp named Japanese John. It is clear by the end of the song, it is not about the words, it is about how the words sound.



Speaking of sound: that's really the story here, in this song and the rest of the album. There is a choreographed "off"-ness here (check the way the backing vocals are filtered and chopped to almost ghostly effect, or the way the keys stutter in and out of tone and don't always perfectly match the beat). It's like some of Spoon's prior songs got together and had a baby (I'm thinking the percussive otherworldliness of "Paper Tiger" with the MoTown chic of "I Turn My Camera On"), and then the baby snapped its fingers and demanded a Tanqeray straight up. This song demands headphones, or at least room-filling speakers. So much goes on in the background that it would be near-impossible to catch the subtleties any other way.



Perhaps the most fitting way I can describe the quality of this track is like this: When I decided to write this review about forty minutes ago, I decided to play it on repeat as I came up with ideas and began to write. Not only is it still listenable, but it is still getting better each time.



Please do yourself a favor: Find this album. Take a listen.



Viva Spoon! Viva indie rock!



roar.

--TRx