Stephen Malkmus may not be a household name, but he’s arguably one of the most important songwriters of the past 25 years. In a previous life he served as frontman for Pavement, a band whose wry lyrics and economical riffing are often cited as precursors to modern indie rock. In the 15 years since Pavement broke up, they’ve become a touchstone of alternative music. Artists ranging from The National to Animal Collective have namechecked them as an influence. Were that not enough, Pavement’s place in rock history was solidified when they received a shout-out from The Onion: “Pitchfork gives history of recorded music a 6.8, says it comes off as derivative of Pavement.”
Unfortunately, Pavement’s reputation has cast a long shadow over Stephen Malkmus’ subsequent output. Though his work with the Jicks hasn’t gone without praise, often times that praise has boiled down to “Stephen Malkmus’ best album since Pavement broke up.” The ridiculously-titled “Wig Out at Jagbags” is the Jicks’ sixth full-length release, and with it Stephen Malkmus has officially recorded more albums with the Jicks than he did with Pavement. That milestone just might mean that it’s time to stop judging the middle-aged singer based on how much he sounds like his younger self. Malkmus himself adopts this attitude on “Wig Out.” He sounds comfortable and self-assured, aware of the past but fully invested in the present.
Stephen Malkmus’ lyrics have always been esoteric, and the lyrics on “Wig Out at Jagbags” are no exception. They range from absurd (“Space cat villain / try to stop killin’ me with kindness”) to nonsensical (“I wouldn’t jerry-rig or candy-coat your Latin kisses”). When Malkmus does make a coherent statement, though, his wit is as sharp as ever. Highlights include “Independence Street,” a Dylan-style ballad about a scorned lover: “I don’t have the stomach for your brandy / I can hardly sip your tea.” In “Chartjunk” Malkmus chronicles a feud between NBA point guard Brandon Jennings and his former coach Scott Skiles, adding a song to the extremely obscure category that is “indie rock songs about sports.” “Rumble at the Rainbo” is Malkmus at his most sardonic, mocking headstrong musicians who are afraid of change (“Returnin’ to our roots / no new material / just cowboy boots”). It’s a subject that’s familiar to the singer, as some critics have accused him of being unable or unwilling to grow as an artist. But when Malkmus ends “Rumble,” an otherwise straightforward rock song, with a tongue-in-cheek reggae breakdown, it’s clear that the only opinion he’s concerned with is his own.
Musically, the Jicks cover a lot of ground over the course of “Wig Out”’s 12 songs. There’s the fuzzy psychedelia of “Planetary Motion” and “Cinnamon & Lesbians,” and then there’s the refined, Motown-style “doo-doo’s” of “Houston Hades.” Sludgy tracks “Shibboleth” and “Scattergories” both clock in at less than three minutes but act as effective transitions between longer songs. The album’s centerpiece is “J Smoov,” where the subtle touch of a horn section helps Malkmus actually pull off an unlikely Al Green impression. Album closer “Surreal Teenagers” indulges a bit too much in guitar-noodling, but makes up for it halfway through the track, where the band kicks into a rollicking groove immediately reminiscent of The Who’s immortal live set at the 1970 Isle of Wight Festival.
While “Wig Out” sees Stephen Malkmus successful venturing into some unfamiliar musical territory, it doesn’t exactly break new ground for music in general. Because of this, the album occasionally sounds a bit outdated, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. After all, Malkmus’ biggest audience is probably not unlike the singer himself: old-school Gen X-ers who now have kids and mortgages. This might lead younger fans to dismiss “Wig Out” as inoffensive dad-rock, but there’s something here for them, too. Modern indie rock has grown apprehensive — preppy Columbia grads who used to sing about punctuation now ruminate on life and death — but the Jicks are, more than anything else, having fun.
This carefree attitude is most apparent on album standout “Lariat,” a wonderful snippet of summery jangle-pop. In “Lariat,” Malkmus reminisces about the drunken escapades of his college years. The song is capped off with a rallying cry of “we grew up listening to the music of the best decade ever!” Though Malkmus makes it clear that he’s singing about the “A-D-D’s” (80s), it’s not the specific decade that’s important here. What’s important is the song’s unabashed youthfulness, a quality that makes the Jicks sound more fresh and exciting than ever here in the 2010s.
iostaszewski@hillsdale.edu