Matt Alber swings back hard on Constant Crows
The terms "indie singer/songwriter" come with a fairly hefty stigma that the artist in question is sporting an unflattering hairdo, rocking an old pair of his little sister's jeans and has really ugly tennis shoes on. He will sing about love in a way that makes Twilight look entirely angst-free, and he will most definitely have terrible lyrics that attempt to equate Stephin Merritt but only get as far as Avril Lavigne-light. This is not the case when it comes to Matt Alber, who flexes his creative muscle on Constant Crows, an album that outshines his previous effort Hide Nothing but a million miles. He croons starkly without pandering to a gay audience, subtly flourishing his talent for pop hooks in combination with a certain level of quality expected of artists like Bruce Springsteen.
Constant Crows is a rapid departure from Hide Nothing, an album which experimented more with ethereal tendencies and subtle beats employed by Björk or William Orbit-- songs far easier to remix if necessary. If Hide Nothing is winter in the Upper West Side of Manhattan, Constant Crows is autumn in Boston. It's the perfect soundtrack for those days after it has just rained and the birds have just come out of hiding. If you're listening to this album, you probably want to make apple crisp and cuddle up in an oversized sweater with a bad movie on television. It establishes its mood rather quickly with Velvet Goldmine, a song that riffs on Billy Joel’s She’s Always a Woman, but then explodes into something entirely different. Alber’s voice is painful and almost drowsy as he delivers lyrics of bittersweet confusion. It’s an album highlight— End of the World with some big brass ones hanging from it.
Hide Nothing was an album of freedom; Constant Crows is a mixed bag of love and loss and happiness and fear and confusion. And frankly stated, it is a far more successful record musically. It’s adventurous without becoming inconsistent, and even if some songs fail to connect, there is a certain quality maintained from A to B to Z. The influence contemporary Tom Goss has had on Alber is keenly expressed on The River, which, although pleasant, isn’t ultimately as satisfying as the fun and romantic Tightrope or Brother Moon, which is the best song Alanis Morissette never wrote. The album ends with a cover of Madonna’s Take a Bow, and it’s interesting to hear how a man would interpret her music. And given that Alber is an openly gay writer who isn’t a drag queen dressed in one of her outfits, it’s nice to see him paying tribute to the quieter side of the one of the most outlandish pop stars in the world. And I’m just glad he didn’t cover GaGa’s Bad Romance.
I’m not entirely sure what the intention here was—if there was any sort of agenda—but Matt Alber ended up creating the perfect album for gay men (Wallingford, Velvet Goldmine) that satisfies our hungry for unadulterated romance that has both substance and quality. This album is not a chore to listen to, nor is it ridiculous and plastic. It certainly fills the void that Gregory Douglass left this year, with Lucid not even coming close to Crows. That is not to say that this only an album which can be enjoyed by homosexuals. Not even close. But our boastful community puts more faith into pop divas than it does into its own brethren, and that’s a shame when we have such talent laying beneath the surface. Constant Crows stands only next to Beth Ditto’s eponymous electronic EP for the best release of 2011.
Highlights: Velvet Goldmine, Tightrope, Brother Moon, Wallingford