Before streaming, but long
after the days of asking a
record store clerk to play
something on the shop system
that one was interested in hearing,
there was the new tech development
of the in-store listening
station, some crazy multi-disc
player with a user interface
and a decent pair of headphones,
it gave you the perusal power
of a dozen or two dozen new
release titles to preview.
The last time I remember
buying an album because
I heard it in a record store
listening station was when
I discovered Sumday by the
band Grandaddy, 2003. I was
immediately enchanted
by yet another singer who
sounded remotely like Kermit
the Frog, but who sang about
technology, and garbage, robots,
people stuck in dead-end jobs,
and nature. Grandaddy was the
saddest happiest band I’d
heard since The Flaming Lips
and I loved them. I have
their first four albums on CD,
at least two of which are
certifiable masterpieces,
and I have their last two
studio albums on vinyl, the
2017 reunion album Last Place
and the 2024 fake reunion
record Blu Wav.
In Jason Lytle’s lyrics and in
his singing, there is a deep
melancholy, often steeped in
humor, but not always. Take
the despondency expressed in the
lines, “I just moved here and I don’t
want to live here anymore,” or
the futility in the admonition,
“That’s what you get for getting
out of bed.” These are dark
sentiments, often set ironically
against a somewhat cheerful
melody. This record, Last Place
comes to us eleven years after
the previous album, and is
far better than that one, on par
perhaps with my first Grandaddy
love, the album Sumday.
Rocking numbers and mellow ones,
pretty singing over the top of
distorted guitars or a nice
piano backdrop, a smattering
of hyper-intentionally placed
synthesizer noises, Grandaddy’s
music sits right in the middle
of alt rock granola, techno-
tinged nerdiness, and mellow
soft rock, no yacht.
“Going to the cabin, to the cabin
of my mind,” is the chorus line
of the first song on Blu Wav, an uber
chill record, the most chill Grandaddy
of all, and, as a kind of “fake” reunion
album (none of the original band
members are on it except for Jason
Lytle, who appears to have written
and recorded the whole album by
himself), it’s the saddest. Full of confession
and self deprecating humor, he sings
“I’m all alone now and no, I don’t like it,”
and “you’re going to be fine, but I’m
going to hell.” Mark Oliver Everett of
Eels calls his own music “bummer rock.”
I think Jason Lytle out-bummers Eels
by a pretty long shot, but there’s also
something joyful about it, so while
you’re crying, you’ve got a slight smile
on your face or you chuckle every once in
a while. I’m happy to wallow in sadness
and laughter anytime with Grandaddy.
Notes on the vinyl editions:
- Last Place, 30th Century Records, Columbia Records, 2017, ugly brown vinyl.
- Blu Wav, Dangerbird Records, 2024, pink splatter on black vinyl.
In case you don’t already know: I’m listening to almost everything in my vinyl collection, A to Z, and writing at least one, sometimes two or three long skinny poem-like-things in response for each artist, and on a few occasions, writing a long skinny poem-like-thing in response to more than one artist. As a poet and a student of poetry, I understand that these things look like poems, but they don’t really sound much like poetry, hence, I call them “poem-like-things.” I’ll admit that they’re just long, skinny essays that veer every now and then into the poetic or lyric.
michael jarmer 