Published on Dec 26, 2001
“It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.” Not that
Dave Matthews bears any resemblance to a Dickens character – Kesey
and Salinger seem more his speed – but how else to begin a review
that might be subtitled “A Tale of Two Albums”?
When the Dave Matthews Band set out to record a new studio album
in spring 2000 with long-time producer Steve Lillywhite, it seems
they had no particular goal in mind. It seems, because the tracks
from those session – the now infamous Lillywhite sessions,
available at a Napster clone near you – sounded like a virtual
continuation of their previous effort, 1998’s
Before These Crowded Streets.
That is a good thing and a bad thing. Over the course of its
ten-year rise from Charlottesville, Virginia clubbing to selling
out stadiums, the DMB’s bread and butter has been the way its
virtuoso players craft gorgeous, hypnotic jams from mere snippets
of melody. With Leroi Moore’s awe-inspiring arsenal of horns and
Boyd Tinsley’s cascading electric violin leading the way, they and
the remarkable Carter Beauford (drums), Stefan Lessard (bass), and
Matthews himself (acoustic guitar) have built a huge following with
the intricate and often dramatic interplay between their exotic
array of instruments.
That following largely embraced
Before These Crowded Streets, despite the increasing
aimlessness of the group’s jams as compared to the tighter
Under The Table And Dreaming and
Crash albums that came before. The Lillywhite sessions,
however, sound dangerously like a dead end, a set that has it
moments of spectacular musicianship, but lacks restraint in terms
of both the soloing and the lyrics (which are dark and cryptic even
for a guy who regularly sings about lying in his grave). In a gutsy
move, the band seems to have recognized the music wasn’t taking
them anywhere fresh, and pulled the plug.
Ditching the nearly-complete album, the band regrouped in LA,
hired producer Glen Ballard – perhaps the perfect antithesis of
their loose, make-it-all-sound-live style – and started over. In a
remarkable burst of creativity, Matthews composed the lyrics and
basic musical structure of this entire album in a matter of days as
the band worked the songs in the studio. For his part, Ballard, who
receives co-writing credit with Matthews on every song, took the
group’s distinctive sound and reshaped it, adding a variety of
keyboard textures while stripping the songs down to four-minute,
radio-friendly size. The biggest change was wrought by Matthews
himself, though, when he set aside his acoustic guitar – the nimble
but often understated foundation of the band’s sound to date – and
plugged in with a vengeance, a latter-day Dylan throwing down the
gauntlet to his fans.
Matthews wastes no time getting his point across, opening this
album by ripping into a chunky electric riff, with horns and violin
nowhere in sight. Stating his case for change, he declares “I did
it / Do you think I’ve gone too far? / I did it / Guilty as charged
/ I did it / It was me, right or wrong / I did it / Yeaaahhh.” This
muscular tune bristles with a restless energy that never lets up,
while sounding nothing like anything the band has done before,
tight and urgent and very much centered on Matthews’ guitar.
Moore’s principal contribution to “I Did It” is a natty little sax
coda he appends to the last two choruses, a sharp touch whose very
economy amplifies its effectiveness.
Moore and Tinsley are similarly restrained through the next
three tracks, the smoldering “Where The World Ends,” the gorgeous
“The Space Between,” with its supple, shimmering melody, and the
hyperactive skiffle of “Dreams Of Our Fathers.” Matthews’s sinuous
electric leads and Ballard’s atmospheric keyboards fill most of the
space on these tracks, leaving you wondering until Matthews brings
Moore and Tinsley back to the forefront for “So Right,” an
alternately funky and soaring track that pulls out all stops
musically without ever digressing. Moore’s tasty sax solo and
Tinsley’s rich melodic fills are both terrific and concise. Notable
also is the fact that this is the generally dour Matthews’s first
truly exuberant song about a relationship, the first time he’s ever
let fly with the idea that love might actually work sometimes.
Other high points include the exotic Middle Eastern tones and
foreboding violin backdrops of the eerie “What You Are,” the guest
shot by Carlos Santana (returning the favor from
Supernatural) on “Mother Father,” and the sweetly rollicking
acoustic gospel of the closing title track.
On many of these tracks it’s easy to see how the songs could
have stretched out. It’s tempting to imagine a Tinsley solo soaring
over the urgent rhythm of “Sleep To Dream Her,” or Moore blowing a
seductive suite of his own through the middle of the bluesy ballad
“Angel.” But the tracks are musically challenging as they stand,
with sharp rhythmic turns and exotic soundscapes. The chief
difference is that they’re more tightly arranged than anything the
band has done before — in other words, exactly the kind of fresh
approach this band needed to shake itself out of the doldrums it
had fallen into.
Some of the band’s long-time fans are beside themselves over
Everyday. Change is always hard, but I also think it’s a
mistake to see this album as defining the DMB’s future. It’s simply
an evolutionary steppingstone, an experiment that’s necessarily
awkward at times, but essential for the band’s continued
growth.
In the moving “If I Had It All,” Matthews sings “If I were giant
sized, on top if it all / Tell me what in the world would I sing
for?” In other words, what’s the point of life, or art, if you’re
not challenged, if you never take any chances? Good question, Dave.
Good question.