Transatlantic Romantic: Death Cab For Cutie, Transatlanticism

by Scott Thill

Ben Gibbard's voice rarely seems to hover above a mellow middle range, even as Transatlanticism's electric guitars violently churn behind him. It's a curious mix, stunningly loud yet resolutely hushed at the same time, and for the millions of fans that have propelled Death Cab For Cutie (as well as Gibbard's acclaimed emo-synth side gig, The Postal Service) from relative unknowns to indie darlings in a few short years, it works, plain and simple. Those hoping that Gibbard will up his volume or let loose -- a la Black Francis or Billy Corgan -- will be waiting a long time.

Here's hoping they're not holding their breath.

Because Death Cab For Cutie's albums have always turned on the pleasing axis of Gibbard's syrup-sweet and clever lyricism, and Translatlanticism features some his finest to date. "Expo '86," the album's de facto single, laments the locked systems that govern everything from relationships to social interaction -- "Sometimes I think this cycle never ends/We slide from top to bottom and we turn and climb again/And it seems that by the time that I have figured what it's worth/The squeaking of our skin against the steel has gotten worse," he grieves in perfect time to a confident backbeat, before sailing off into the chorus, "I am waiting for something to go wrong," sounding every beat like Built To Spill's Doug Martsch circa There's Nothing Wrong With Love. When the song picks up steam behind him, as it does on most of the quick-change dynamics littering the album like so much pop music blueprinting, it becomes a rollicking anthem of disillusioned resolve.

Photo: Ryan Goeller, Barsuk Records

Such resolve forms an epicenter of sorts for Gibbard's continually shifting phrasing and structures. "Tiny Vessels", which shifts back and forth between quiet confession and earth-shattering downpour, feels perfectly comfortable within its frustrated state of contradiction ("Yeah, you are beautiful," Gibbard sings, "but you don't mean a thing to me"). Similarly, the seven-minute-plus title track employs some of the Death Cab frontman's finest abstract poetry ("I was standing on the surface of a perforated sphere/When the water filled every hole/And thousands upon thousands made an ocean/Making islands where no islands should go") before turning entirely personal, repeating "I need you so much closer" to a mounting climax of drums and guitars that lasts almost three minutes long.

Speaking of guitars, they are Transatlanticism's finest gifts. Crunchy and relatively ubiquitous, they keep Gibbard's sad songs from turning into morose parodies, an unfortunate metamorphosis found at length on Cat Power's most recent release, You are Free. But where Cat Power's Chan Marshall seems to thrive on the type of rampant self-absorption that can turn a fan base into an unending love-it-or-hate-it conversation, Death Cab For Cutie's crystalline musicianship sets Gibbard's franchise apart from the pretenders for good. Whether it's the rousing hurrah of "New Day," the refreshing meat-and-potatoes jam stuck in the middle of "Tiny Vessels," or the apocalyptic noise of "We Looked Like Giants," Gibbard's voice is finally receiving the kind of energetic accompaniment that will set him apart from the ranks of confessional songwriters like the late (and evidently very troubled) Elliot Smith and the aforementioned Chan Marshall.

BUY TRANSATLANTICISM HERE

There is no doubt in my mind -- and in this I seem to have a lot of company -- that Transatlanticism is Death Cab For Cutie's best album so far, not bad for a group that's been professionally plugging away for just over four years now. And there is also no doubt that Ben Gibbard is one of pop music's finest talents. But the pop, the kind that veers closer to McCartney than Lennon, is the thing here; most of the songs stick to a pretty safe formula that starts from the infrastructure of Gibbard's ambitious, Romantic wordplay and sing-song delivery and moves outward into the standard soft-loud-soft paradigm or an uncomplicated complement of a lone piano or acoustic guitar.

If that kind of schemata is your chosen cup of tea, then Transatlanticism is the perfect soundtrack to your lonely, rainy night. Just don't space out with the headphones on, or those candles might catch fire and burn your house down. It could happen, and something tells me that Gibbard wants it to. For that, he's got my loyalty.

01 December 03

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