ARTIST: Fancey
TITLE: Schmancey
LABEL:
GENRE: Indie
BITRATE: 198kbps avg
PLAYTIME: 0h 47m total
RELEASE DATE: 2007-11-12
RIP DATE: 2008-02-07
Track List
----------
1. Witches Night 3:32
2. Lost in Twilight 3:44
3. Call 3:07
4. Gulf Breeze 3:15
5. Bitter Life 4:06
6. Blue Star 3:09
7. Fader 3:19
8. Karma's Out To Get Me 2:59
9. Whoa 3:52
10. Feels Like Dawn 3:04
11. Heaven's Way 3:09
12. Downtown II 3:27
13. Let The Breeze In 3:52
14. Cross O' Gold 3:16
Release Notes:
Todd Fancey, the guitarist and guy-whose-name-you-donÆt-know from CanadaÆs best
band, the New Pornographers, is really into æ70s pop music. An indisputably
talented musicianùhe orchestrates for, and plays, many of the instruments on
this, his second recordùFanceyÆs elegant work in his bread-and-butter supergroup
goes unsung far too often. Indeed, while critics fawn over Neko Case and Carl
Newman, and indie hipsters go green bananas whenever Dan Bejar takes the stage,
all seem content to allow Fancey (and his equally unsung rhythm section) to fade
into the background. ThatÆs a drag, but it has much more to do with the solo
output from those three burgeoning stars than it does with their value in the
New Pornos. Put bluntly, while Neko, Carl, and Dan have each released at least
one near-classic non-Porno solo record, FanceyÆs records have been ignored. And,
I think I know why.
Fancey takes his inspiration from the stack of dusty records in most other
folksÆ milk crates. Indeed, this record, cheekily titled Schmancey, reeks of
hero worship, homage, and wistful nostalgia. It is a studio album the way Steely
Dan used to make studio albumsùslick, clean, every note in its right place. It
is filled with melodies and harmonies straight out of the Steve Miller Band
handbook. It seems to be, over and over again, trying to recreate the magic of
Big StarÆs early output. In short, it plays like the soundtrack to a movie set
in FanceyÆs youth. Remember ôJackie Blueö, that big 1975 hit by the Ozark
Mountain Daredevils? So does he.
At its best, Schmancey is truly an impressive piece of work. It is so well
designed, and so unswerving in its presentation, that it speaks to the
profoundly dedicated artistry of its author, and his deep respect for his
musical progenitors. Schmancey is more awash in handsome melody, in luxuriant
orchestration, and in plain old pillowy bliss than any new record IÆve heard in
months. But (and this either matters to you or it doesnÆt), there are simply no
new ideas here. This is an exercise in assimilation and sincere executionùon
which score it is undoubtedly a successùthat, ultimately, wonÆt bring about any
kind of new movement in pop music. Indeed, it likely wonÆt do much of anything
except remind you of the records of your youth. Or, I suppose, your big sisterÆs
youth. Sigh.
Heck, it might even make you take a trip to the basement for those old milk
crates?
But the question here revolves around relevance. When Wilco released Summerteeth
back in 1999, they took a lot of heat for their album-length flirtation with
early æ70s pop, especially sandbox-era Beach Boys material. Their record was
confounding, but gorgeously so, and has since stood up as a curiosity in their
catalog for the bold contrast between the lush beauty of the production and the
despairing, often nightmarish imagery of its lyrics. This was, ten years ago, a
æ70s pop music redux. And it has since spawned considerable acolytes, musical
innovations, and a kind of rediscovery of post-Æ60s studio pop. Caribou, the
Besnard Lakes, Blitzen Trapper, and Panda Bear, to take a few au courante
examples, all owe a little something to Jeff TweedyÆs worship of Holland and
SurfÆs Up.
FanceyÆs Schmancey can be described in many of the same terms (minus, perhaps,
the Beach Boys references). However, whereas those bands have taken the past and
re-imagined its offerings, emphasizing an integration of Nixon-era melody with
Bush II-era execution, FanceyÆs approach is to refuse virtually every musical
shift since about 1976. It is, in this way, bizarrely idiosyncratic. No one does
this stuff anymore, but Fancey is determined to bring it back, to lead the
charge, even if heÆs the only one in the charge.
And, speaking of idiosyncrasy, FanceyÆs Schmancey is driven by lyrics so weird,
so personal, and so decidedly out of phase with the pleasant, dreamy joyfulness
of the music that if you focus upon them, the effect can be arresting. Not good,
by the way, jus