Suds on Bleeker

“So this is gonna be a solo thing. Are you calling it Miles Kurosky?”
“Probably not. I don’t like the idea of just using my name.”

The above quote is from an interview Miles Kurosky gave in 2006, two years after his former band, Beulah, broke-up, and 4 years out from the future release of this month’s The Desert of Shallow Effects. The blurb is offered here as just one example of the ways in which Kurosky’s first solo album shifted and mutated over its 4-year gestation period.

One could essentially break this review down into one sentence: “Soooo, remember Beulah?” If you do, pat yourself on the back once again for having such great taste. If the hey-days of early millennium indie rock passed you by, well…worry not, because this album sounds *exactly* like Beulah…which is easy to say, but is in fact a little white lie.

Beulah was a band that helped cement and propel the way we listen to modern college rock, what has come to be known as “indie rock”. They had sweet orchestrations that get stuck in your head for days, smooth vocals, and a panoply of pop that featured Bill Swan on trumpet, which was key to their signature sound. Shallow Effects is inherently no different, except that now, in addition to central flourishes of trumpet, we’re treated to something resembling an entire wind section, complete with flutes and oboes, on “Housewives and Their Knives”; “Dog in the Burning Building” includes a welcoming marimba solo; and throughout, the percussion is playful and jaunty, even on the token sad song, “She Was My Dresden”.

Looking back on Kurosky’s last output as songwriter, Beulah’s Yoko, one might expect a moody and rattling procession of bitter recriminations and studio flourishes, but 6 years away has most definitely imbued the singer with a fresh prospective, and the songs here are allowed to breathe again. The “studio” has always been an instrument used to great effect on Beulah releases. It’s the same on Desert, but here the notes are allowed to chime, the drums snap, and the winds are allowed to stretch, with only minor interruptions of obvious wizardry. There’s a feeling that the songs are much less personal, as well, and more focused on character study, or narrative abstractions a la John Vanderslice. By that same token, Kurosky has gone through a lot to get to this album’s release, including extended periods of convalescence, as well as getting married, and that journey shows in songs such as “The World Won’t Last the Night”, with its urgent sense of finding something worth fighting for, and trying to convince yourself to do just that.

“Cowards! We gotta unite. I think I’ve found us a fight. Brothers, I’m not yellow anymore. I’ve overcome my fear of heights. But blood still makes me weak, it makes me see stars.”
After his former band broke up, Miles Kurosky found that he’d become fed up with the business of making music, and for a time considered hanging up his musical spurs for good. The songs you’ll hear on this album, in some cases, were written 3 to 4 years ago. In the same way that this length of time offers us a sort of cross-section of the songwriter’s method, the song cycle is presented as a kind of color wheel of the pop spectrum, ranging from romping folk to chamber pop, and balladry to cowbell-infused power pop (with accompanying trumpet, of course). The album gives us no clear vision of the direction Kurosky is headed, but it’s doubtful he knows where himself. He’s doing what he does best again, and in this musician’s case, that will always be enough.

Critic’s pick: “The World Won’t Last the Night”