hey guys, i found this kick ass review of pseudopod's new album. the reviewer certainly seems well educated on our music scene. so check it out!!!
Pseudopod sticks by its roots
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By: Grayson Currin
September 5, 2002
It's one thing to be catchy; it's another thing to be catchy and smart. Los Angeles-based Pseudopod, whose self-titled, major-label debut recently hit stores, seems to know no other way.
The naturally attractive form of music that Pseudopod exhibits so well on their debut has as much to do with the band's history as the band itself will have to do with music's future. And that, to be certain, is quite a bit.
Tim McGregor, a drummer, and Ross Grant, a guitarist, transplanted a friendship that stretched back from grade school to UCLA's Music Studies department. After having been band mates in various outfits for years, the two happened upon ethnomusicology major Brian Fox and struck out to form a funk cover band. Fox, a multi-instrumentalist who had only recently returned from music study in Ireland, stepped back into the role of bassist for the first time in quite a while.
In a fortuitous instant of bar-hopping, the trio discovered singer/songwriter Kevin Carlberg making his way through one of his acoustic-based originals at Westwood Brewing Company. The band quickly gelled by taking Kevin's songs and improvising parts, shaping each acoustic tale into a song that could be ridden by the players into lengthy jams.
The four players quickly evolved into a tight outfit of four best friends. Staying in school and attending classes Monday through Wednesday, the band hit the road the second half of each week, reaching out to audiences on the West Coast with a fervor that paid dividends of a large and loyal fan base.
After three years of touring on their self-recorded, self-released "Pod," the guys earned their diplomas and entered a Rolling Stone Battle of The Bands that earned Pseudopod the lofty title of "Best College Band in America." The prize money went to pay for the recording of their second album, "Rest Assured," which paid for itself by being the fateful demo that earned the group an Interscope Records contract.
With the prospect of a major-label debut staring them in the face, Pseudopod was soon confounded by a series of questions -- where to record, how to record, what songs to record and who to use as a producer.
After heavy consideration, the band answered the last question by deciding upon Paul Obersold, best known for his snappy, radio-friendly production with bands like Sister Hazel and Three Doors Down.
"He came to L.A. for a rehearsal, and we were sold on Paul," Carlberg told Technician.
The seemingly awkward relationship of a band whose amorphous songs had the potential to stretch upwards of 10 minutes and a producer with a renowned propensity for clean-cut, neat songs quickly found itself to be a beneficial match.
Obersold opened his "pop mechanics" playbook to Pseudopod, and the band devoured it while remembering not to forget the roots of its initial success. Obersold, in one of those rare moments where a producer and a band are strong enough to claim mutual ignorance, gave them room to breathe and room to play.
The result of the give-and-take, ask-and-tell relationship is an album that parallels "Under the Table and Dreaming" in its essential alternation and combination of concision and free-form groove.
On the disc, Pseudopod shines with an uncanny maturity that results as part of Obersold's coaxing. That maturity is manifest on "Never Mind the Matter." With an intro sax line (provided by Australian saxophonist Matt Keegan, the band's newest member) that recalls the punch and impact of Jeff Coffin, Carlberg's voice chimes in swiftly, singing in his high-pitched voice reminiscent of Dave Matthews. His quick, steadily paced measure carries all the appeal of Ed Robertson's memorable quasi-rap for the Barenaked Ladies.
"Never Mind the Matter" marks just one of the album's four-minute excursions. Nine of the record's 12 tracks fall somewhere near that radio-sacred time. "Intentions," the track that the band is currently considering to be the album's first single, takes its shuffling of hi-hats and snares into a glorious melody. Ross Grant churns out a brief but emphatically stated guitar solo that treads the fencepost between jam and pop perfectly. It is, in essence, one of the best 15-second solos ever intended for radio play.
"Village Fool" rides Grant's electric chops into a responsorial chorus that chases Fox's head-bobbing bassline into an anthem for social freedom in the spirit of Ben Harper's emancipation pleas.
"You've got to fight to be free," wails Carlberg throughout the song.
Battling along similar social lines is one of the band's historic standbys, "Shrinks." "Promises of never ever after/Speed to shrinks who exploit your mind/The only thing is money that they're after/Speak to me for free, that's fine," sings Carlberg. The song is one of the few hints on the album to the band's youth. It drowns in its own juvenile accusations despite its good intentions; it comes across as trite, a utopian vision that aims for an easy thrill without full lyrical development.
Other tracks on the album continue to push the four-minute envelope by offering primarily cleverly written and deftly played songs filtered through the plethora of the band's broad base of influences. A distinctly "Southern California of the Sixties" sound emanates from "Wisdom." The song's carefree spirit, combined with the airy guitar and playful lyrics, is a sharp contrast to the ominous, modern rock textures of "All Over You."
"Balloon Ride" finds Carlberg crooning through a wall of voice distortion like Ed Kowalczyk as McGregor rides a clever beat under Keegan's ephemeral saxophone lines.
The band makes room for its roots with the occasional jam, most notably with the nine-minute rendition of "Lackadaisical Memory." From the song's onset, the band moves with the oomph of New Orleans' Galactic. The song's playful downbeat strikes a quick-forming contrast to Fox's marching, omnipresent bassline.
Keegan's play, despite being recorded after the band had finished the songs, moves incredibly well within the song. He punctuates lines heavily, only to launch into a mellow, atmospheric trance four minutes into the song. One minute later, the pulse begins to quicken as McGregor slowly but steadily accelerates alongside Grant's increasingly active guitar work.
Minutes later, the band collides into a full sonic assault as the drums flail and Keegan grinds one unrepentant note after another. Following one more verse from Carlberg, the band falls suddenly out of the arrangement as their vocalist hangs in for one last line.
And it is that last lingering line that comes as the conclusion of one of the year's most solid debut efforts.
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