Besides death and taxes, the one other constant in life is that
Stereolab will continue to create picturesque otherworldly gems that
enhance our lives with multiple layers of subjective meaning. On
their tenth full-length album of new compositions — and their
first album since the tragic death of singer Mary Hansen — the
band upholds and often exceeds these lofty expectations. In fact,
Margerine Eclipse is a decided improvement upon their last
three albums, discarding the dense and difficult song structures that
plagued those albums.
Beyond the musical element, the other key reason for the shift in
quality on an already strong catalogue is that for once the band
provides the listener with some obvious and clear themes. Typically,
Stereolab revel in the obtuse. Their reconstructed brand of
NASA-built, Esquivel-inspired torch songs often are so vague in
meaning that they tend to give the listener much latitude in
interpretation. From the outset, Margerine Eclipse sends its
lunar probe out in search of the well-worn intergalactic themes of
loss and rebirth, and does so in grand fashion. The outcome is an
album that bounces, skips and chuckles with dew-eyed wonder at this
sometimes-joyous experience called life.
Opening track "Vonal Declosion" signals this return to fervor and
finery. Gone are the unfocused washes of sound and mile-long tracks
that were prevalent indicators of the work of producer Jim O'Rourke
on Cobra and Phases Group Play Voltage in the Milky Night.
Instead there is a pop-obsessed focus on skittering electronics and
drum machines, as programmed by Teutonic wunderkind and Mouse on Mars
member Jan St. Werner. Couple this with some frenetic guitar work
from original member Tim Gaines and we have an exotic fusion of
electro-pop and decadent lounge music.
Also missing from this album is the free-jazz philosophy that was
brought to past albums by Tortoise members John McEntire and Doug
McCoombs. These leftist leanings often diffused the power of
Stereolab's sugar-coated agenda, which has returned in full force
with their departure. Instead we find longtime collaborator Sean
O'Hagan stepping into a more decided leadership role. As the founder
of the High Llamas, O'Hagan has always aligned himself with the
Pet Sounds production philosophy, emphasizing the nature of a
song through the grand arrangements, vocal harmonies and unique
instrumentation rather than on complex guitar, percussion and
electronic interplay.
This shift is best evidenced on the third song in the "Margerine
Suite," "Dear Marge," a three-part medley incorporating a mad
mélange of styles into approximately seven short minutes. The
first fuses electronics with acoustic elements to create a bizarre
lounge-flamenco hybrid, which may be homage to electro-pop pioneer
Juan Garcia Esquivel. While the second part is a more enigmatic
vocal-based composition, it uses analog synthesizers, strings and
looping percussion to evoke images of a last tango on Mars. The final
segment is straight-up disco featuring dirty funked-up guitars,
tambourine and a beat that has definite ties to Blondie's "Heart of
Glass." All three tracks that make up the "Margerine Suite" are
essential listening and are excellent examples of the breadth and
poise that a mature Stereolab exhibits throughout this album.
As all great records must, Margerine Eclipse has a quick and
ready hit in its coffers. "Margerine Rock" is an epic throwback, a
song that would not be out of place on Emperor Tomato Ketchup,
or maybe in a more rudimentary way on the manic Transient Noise
Bursts With Announcements. Sadler employs a bemused monotone and
finally treats us to the first intelligible morsel of English lyrics
for this radio-friendly smash. Guitars and Moog are forced from the
earth by a bombastic mainstream-rock beat and the track swings with a
cocksure exuberance that Stereolab has been bemoaned for losing in
recent years. The production is so ace that it is difficult to
discern whether or not the musical chatter in the background is
vocals, analog synthesizers or clanging guitar leads. Whatever it may
be, the addition completes "Margerine Rock," which, in its use of
both Motown and Subpop aesthetics reframed through a Stereolab
filter, becomes the pivotal composition here.
There is one loss that outweighs all others on this album. The
untimely death of longtime bandmate Mary Hansen looms large over
Margerine Eclipse, and her backing vocal can be imagined
ghost-dancing behind Sadler's in every nook and cranny. No song
carries this burden better than the eulogy to this fallen friend on
"Feel and Triple," where Sadler bluntly croons, "Memory, of a friend,
memory/ I need to embrace/ Fallen out, fallen out, fallen/ Out of our
time and space." This is an apt eulogy delivered by those left
struggling with the loss of their beloved friend in a harsh and cruel
world.
Somehow Stereolab has found a way to not only soldier on, but also
embrace a return to the passion and brimming enthusiasm which made
their early records such a delight. Margerine Eclipse upholds
this epicurean ideal as the "groop" write, sing and play merrily
while basking in the realization that tomorrow we may all be gone.
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