Sparklehorse

When an album is hailed as a “rock milestone,” the concepts that most often spring to mind are historical importance, originality, and seminality (a term that sounds like an awkward coinage but that in music-journalism jargon indicates the degree of influence a given record has had on works both contemporary and future). Sometimes, however, we can speak of a milestone even when the album in question doesn't necessarily tick all three of those boxes. Perhaps that's the case with “Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot,” the unpronounceable debut by Sparklehorse, the moniker behind which actually lies a single identity: that of Mark Linkous. It's hard, in fact, to claim that this record occupies a decisive place in the history of rock, and it probably isn't even an album that had much influence on other musicians. On the other hand, it's certainly an original record that, in its stylistic schizophrenia, blends in a thoroughly personal way flashes of intimate country-rock à la Neil Young, bursts of adrenalized power-pop à la Big Star, and scraps of psychedelic folk in the manner of the Byrds. The level of songwriting is dizzying, and the arrangements, however much they wink at lo-fi aesthetics in production, are always meticulously crafted. Everything, finally, is steeped in the spirit of the era, that of the Nineties: the “depressed,” melancholic spirit of Smog and Red House Painters, the vital, angry spirit that detonated grunge, or again the melodic, poetic spirit that between 1993 and 1995 launched Smashing Pumpkins into rock's pantheon.

Good. Now forget the dull, didactic introduction you just read, because if ever there were a case where it makes no sense to sit around analyzing, contextualizing, and making pointless intellectual speculations about the supposed historical importance of Sparklehorse's debut album — or worse, tallying up all the bands it supposedly influenced — this is it. That kind of talk can be cheerfully tossed aside when dealing with a work as full of passion as “Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot.” What can you say in the face of the melancholy of “Cow,” which creeps under your skin with a trotting banjo and guitars that cut straight to the soul? Nothing; there's simply nothing to say, because the song's intensity speaks for itself, and never mind if someone remains unmoved by a song that sounds like surrealist bluegrass for wandering seekers of themselves: you can't expect everyone to share the same sensibility; taste is taste, and there's little to complain about when even “Blonde On Blonde” and “Revolver” have their detractors. What is certain, though, is that you'd need stalactites where your heart should be not to be moved by “Homecoming Queen,” a romantic, desperate fable, sung like little more than a whisper, that tells of a king abandoned by his queen, willing to give up his kingdom for a horse that would carry him back to his beloved. That king could be anyone who has ever felt, at least once in their life, dethroned from their own love.

And how can you resist the burst of energy of the power-pop of “Rainmaker”? Resistance is futile: its sunny melody sweeps away every trace of bitterness and acts as an almost adolescent counterweight to the mournful ballad “Weird Sisters,” itself echoed by the possessed guitar arpeggios that elevate “Spirit Ditch” to the level of a metaphysical confession. Linkous's songbook, though, is as inspired as it is moody; so right after this moment of introspection, the guitars charge back in with full noise force on “Tears On Fresh Fruit”. Before the masterpiece “Cow” there's another lump-in-the-throat ballad: “Saturday,” which feels like sitting at the window watching the rain fall, while the guitars intoxicate the atmosphere with their bittersweet harmonies. The rain keeps falling on “Hammering The Cramps,” except this time it's not raindrops but cascades of feedback and reverb accompanying the rhythm's impetuous pulse and the melody's crescendo.

“Most Beautiful Widow In Town” is acoustic poetry that caresses, consoles, and leaves a sense of emptiness in its wake. An emptiness that widens into the wounds of “Heart Of Darknes,” flayed by a weeping pedal steel guitar; an emptiness that then fills up with life through the electric romps of “Someday I Will Treat You Good”. This is Mr. Sparklehorse's universe: one minute you're weeping from loneliness, the next you're reclaiming, in a rush of adrenaline that's almost a craving for joy, your right to exist. Because, yes, the world is sad and beautiful at once, and all that's left is the comfort of “Sad & Beautiful World”.

Unfortunately, though, sometimes the world has precious little beauty to offer, and shortly after the release of “Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot,” during the European tour that saw Sparklehorse opening for none other than Radiohead, Linkous was laid low by a mix of heroin, antidepressants and alcohol. He would survive, but only temporarily. A few years later, in 2001, perhaps to give thanks for having pulled through, he would sing “It's A Wonderful Life” with the resigned air of someone who doesn't really believe what he's saying. Evidently, despite that gorgeous song, Linkous's life was anything but wonderful, and it became painfully clear once and for all on March 7, 2010, when, gripped by depression, Mr. Sparklehorse decided to end it all with a gunshot to the heart. That heart he had laid bare in his songs, that heart which sadly could no longer bear the weight of his own life, but which knew how to make other lives richer and more meaningful.

When an album manages to convey shared feelings so naturally, simply and directly, with no intellectual pretension whatsoever, then it truly is a universal work. That alone is enough to make it a “milestone.”

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03/04/2011