Just about everyone involved with this, the second Long Winters
album, has a more recognizable name than John Roderick. There's Ken
Stringfellow of The Posies and the latter-day touring lineup of Big
Star, who earned co-production and mixing credits and played several
instruments. Death Cab for Cutie's Chris Walla also produced and
added a few guitar parts. Minus Five maven Scott McCaughey honked
harmonica, Pedro the Lion's Blake Wescott banged a tambourine,
Stringfellow's Posies pal Jon Auer chipped in on his six-string, and
even Ye Olde Pete Buck shrugged off a golden mandolin line. Heck,
even the studio janitor probably had to prove his pop discography
before plugging in the Shop-Vac.
But no amount of indie-pop star power should obscure this simple
fact: At its core, When I Pretend to Fall is the product of a
singular personality, and that is John Roderick. He wrote the songs,
sings them, and plays everything from guitar to keys and steel to
percussion; he's abetted throughout by the Long Winters lineup of
keyboard player, harmony vocalist, and former Harvey Danger frontman
Sean Nelson, bassist Eric Corson and drummer Michael Shilling.
The band wastes no time in proving that this disc will be a more
energetic affair than its promising but slightly bland debut, 2002's
The Worst You Can Do Is Harm. When I Pretend to Fall
bursts out of the gate on the head-bobbing keyboards of "Blue
Diamonds"; soon Roderick's plainspoken vocal appears, and by the time
he's reached the first chorus, he's been joined by platoons of brass
and backing vocalists. This is giddy pop-rock in Technicolor, and it
continues through the Motown horns-and-organ arrangement of "Scared
Straight," the R.E.M.-iniscent jangle of "Shapes," and the radiant
ballad "Cinnamon."
Then Roderick pulls up on the reins, paring down the extra sounds and
pushing his vocal to the fore. In "Bride and Bridle," an ominous tale
of a dude out for blood after 10 years in the pen, there's a bit of
Colin Blunstone's airbrushed tone in Roderick's throat, plus some of
the guts of Bob Pollard. Sung over a simple piano line and, later,
sweet strings, his falsetto on "Blanket Hog" is plaintive but not
pinched. And he holds his own on "It'll Be A Breeze," an unadorned
acoustic strummer that calls to mind Damien Jurado.
Heading down the home stretch, the pop muscle returns. As "Stupid"
chugs along and shimmers, Roderick's voice goes all Doug Martsch,
wobbly and urgent. "Prom Night at Hater High" opens with twinkling
Van Morrison piano, but winds up a rollicking rocker jammed with
dirty guitars, twitchy keys, and even an organ that sounds like a
sax. "New Girl" is a happy snap-crackle of crunchy pop, "The Sound of
Coming Down" echoes with GBV drone, and "Nora" ends things with a
creatively arranged exercise in tuneful desperation.
And When I Pretend isn't just a collection of ear-tickling
tunes; Roderick also delivers as a lyricist. "Blanket Hog" is a
tender love letter, "Cinnamon" a story song that's evocative but hard
to pin down — "It was a hospital, I was delirious/ I clung to
the stretcher/ I drew them a heart/ They said, 'Do you remember when
you saw her last?'/ I said, 'Her skin is cinnamon, her skin is
cinnamon.'"
Elsewhere, he launches his share of memorable zingers ("Now my only
ties to that old scene/ Are the same mean people in pre-owned jeans")
along with a healthy dose of catchy nonsense. When it comes to lines
like "You know karate now? From a show?/ When two of the raiders
come, I'm counting on you to throw more than shapes," I may have no
idea what he's talking about, but I'm singing along.
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