John Vanderslice

Romanian Names

(Dead Oceans)

Record Review by Adam McKibbin

We’ve seen this many times before: a gifted singer/songwriter makes a splash in the indie universe and then becomes a semi-victim of his own reputation – losing the surprise factor and unable to ever recapture the “under the radar” status that tempts discovery-hungry reviewers to tack on an extra half-star to their reviews, all while remaining completely under the radar for the bulk of music consumers.  John Vanderslice may be the latest artist afflicted.  Symptoms?  Reviews that call your new album anodyne, underwhelming, forced, rushed, lacking in depth and… “miles ahead of most of the solo artists attempting to make music.”

To be fair, Romanian Names has done pretty decently in the press (Metacritic score: 71), but it’s better than a pretty decent album.  Vanderslice’s seventh record is also one of his best.  For the first time in a few albums, 9/11 isn’t a dominant theme; this time around, the lyrics feel both more personal and more general, looking inward more than outward.  While it may be impossible to top 9/11 for lyrical gravity, there’s still some serious stuff on Romanian Names.  “Too Much Time” is an especially affecting track about isolation and the passage of time.  Vanderslice is capable of nuanced character studies, but the details around the margins of “Too Much Time” are purposefully blurred.  It stays in the moment even when its protagonist is looking backwards – a tale of regret set against scenic backdrops, told by a man free from obligation who winds up realizing that obligation isn’t such a bad thing.  “Packed up my pots and pans / And freedom is overrated,” the lonely camper sings.  And that’s positively cheerful compared to the stripped-down closer, “Hard Times,” which stands in stark contrast to the sweet harmonies of opener “Tremble and Tear” (as well as easy sing-alongs “Sunken Union Boat” and “D.I.A.L.O.”)

Of the dozen tracks on Romanian Names, a full ten hold up to repeat listens, lifted by the usual combination of melodic chops and excellent production (Vanderslice runs the Tiny Telephone studio in San Francisco, which has hosted a ton of top-notch bands).  “Forest Knolls” and “Oblivion” – smack at the center of the tracklist – are the ones that didn’t make the iPod cut, and also happen to be the ones that wander furthest from the signature Vanderslice sounds (“Forest Knolls” is worthwhile just for the lyrics, but its minimal electronic heartbeat is no substitute for the melodies that dominate the album).