Published on Oct 7, 1999
It’s always a bit of pot luck when you pop a new Moxy Fruvous CD
on. Which incarnation of the band is going to show up? The quirky
humorists of “King Of Spain” and “My Baby Loves A Bunch Of
Authors”? The politics of “River Valley” or “Michigan Militia”? The
subtle, heartbreaking pop of “Fly”? Rather like musical Russian
roulette, you never know if the gun is going to be loaded. In the
case of the Frulads’ seventh and newest release,
Thornhill, it’s at best a mixed bag, half a clip of musical
bullets.
Thornhill is named after the Toronto suburb where the four
members of Moxy Fruvous grew up and met, and in many ways it tries
to be a tribute to the music they grew up listening to. The obvious
Beatles influence always present in Fruvous’ music is there, along
with some Byrds, a bit of Led Zeppelin, and a decent dose of
seventies harmonies like Crosby, Stills, and Nash. The production
of Don Dixon (REM, The Smithereens) doesn’t hurt; Dixon knows how
to handle those kind of harmonies, and with a few exceptions his
production is above reproach.
Yet, with all this, on a very base level
Thornhill doesn’t work. It’s not a
bad CD, precisely, but it is rather an unsatisfying one,
especially when compared to the band’s past work. A good deal of
Fruvous’ appeal is their energy, exuberance, and quirky sense of
humour and timing, and a lot of that is absent on
Thornhill, as if they settled into the studio with the
intention to write a Serious Album, and then got overwhelmed by the
capital letters. I hate to compare current work with past, but the
moment I was done listening to
Thornhill I put on Fruvous’ 1995 CD
Wood, and
Thornhill, although similar in feel to that CD, is a weaker
work.
There are some high points to
Thornhill. “Independence Day” is a well-woven extended
metaphor on breakup and loss, “Downsizing” is a heartbreaking look
at losing one’s job and one’s life, and “My Poor Generation” is a
tongue-in-cheek analysis of the Eighties’ kids and their bleak
outlook (“Maybe corporate raiders got greedy in the ’80s and bought
up all the direction…”) “Sad Girl” and “If Only You Knew” are
nice as well, and “Splatter Splatter” is a funny, tongue-in-cheek
look at the media of Fruvous’ childhood (and one of the few times
it seems the band relaxes and has fun).
But for every ‘nice’ song, there’s a weak counterpart. “You
Can’t Be Too Careful” is derivative and dull, “Earthquakes” is just
boring, and “Hate Letter” is a feeble attempt at being Hall and
Oates that should have been left in the studio, its production and
mix muddy. “I Will Hold On”, the first single, isn’t precisely bad,
but limps along, never quite hitting its stride, as if the band was
on Valium that day. The last word I ever expected to use about a
Moxy Fruvous album is “mediocre,” but
Thornhill comes dangerously close.
I
know there’s a better CD in Moxy Fruvous than
Thornhill. We’ve had better than this already;
Wood,
Bargainville, and
Live Noise come to mind. But this trip into the band’s past
is as fuzzy as a flashback sequence and stilted as a bad Star Trek
episode, and is for Fruvous completists only.