Before there was the analog set, there was the anorak army. Somewhere
between that twain came the cardigan crowd, and, before Set Yourself
on Fire, Stars'd played only to some sort of variation on that
triumvirate, the twee indie-kids, basically, being the ones who were
charmed by a band covering "This Charming Man" in a sentimental
electro-pop style. Yet, with this, their third longplayer, Stars'
refrain no longer remains the same; they preach to a whole different
congregation now, what with the ever-escalating hipness that comes with
coming from the new zero kanada (and having tangled-up associations
with Toronto's Arts & Crafts crew, in particular) meaning that, just as
they've gotten serious themselves, serious dudes into serious music can
now listen to Stars with open ears, and greet them with open arms. See,
the way their song's changed herein is that Stars are no longer
content with cobbling together those cutesy indie influences, stitching
the Smiths to Saint Etienne and getting their frolicking frontman,
Torquil Campbell, to strike the right charming-man lyrical poses out
front. The "soft revolution" that Campbell once trumpeted has been
forsaken (even though, herein, such a statement is intentionally
translated to a tune titled "Soft Revolution" — not so much about making
wussy music now, but about providing diametrical counterculture
resistance to All-American moneymaking belligerence). The crew draws its
influence, instead, from the orchestral-rock epics recently realized by
those bands with which they share members, Broken Social Scene and The
Dears. With plenty of sweeping strings and Evan Cranley — BSS bassist
by day — switching his Stars duties from four strings to six, there's
squalling guitar sprawling with fire-starting friction over a set of
songs that suspiciously rock, as epic and passionate as those early
Stars numbers, back in their Manhattanite days as the Campbell/Chris
Seligman duo, were once sweet and droll. The grandness of such is
matched by lyrical anger, the words on the works herein spiraling out
from charting temporal relationships, to recalling bitter arguments from
within the band to the death of relationships within the band, to the
death of social/political justice in this day and age. The rage they
feel at the latter leads to Torquil (on the ode-to-GWB "He Lied About
Death") slinging abuse at the commander-in-chief in so many
slightly-tasteless words ("I hope your drunken daughters are gay!"),
which is a long way from "All I could say was: 'Are you coming home
soon?'," for sure.
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