Benjamin Gibbard - Former Lives (2012)

 

   As the weather turns and the leaves fade to brown, I find myself yearning for a more atmospheric and introspective tone in the music I lend my ear to. I really don't know why, but this seems to satisfy me. Maybe it's the wistful arrangements that somehow create a warmth as the nights grow cold, or maybe its the intelligent lyrics that help me make sense of the darker nights.
   Ok, so it's clearly not that dramatic (what was I thinking?).
   Perhaps a better explanation is that I tend to crave a style of music that rests in a down-turned comfort, as the gloomy weather sets in, apparently.
   For example, I find myself listening intently to the likes of Radiohead's In Rainbows (2007), Super700's Under The No Sky (2012), Map's We Can Create (2007), Interpol's Our Love To Admire (2007) and Death Cab For Cutie's Transatlanticism (2003), as they all seem to hold this essence for me.
   With this in mind, I finally got round to listening to Benjamin Gibbard's début solo album, Former Lives (2012), in the hope that this would also fall into this rather niche category, as does his long-time band's 2003 album Transatlanticism.
   However, it unfortunately fails to hold the same warming charm.  That's understandable.  I mean, Benjamin Gibbard didn't create the album to suit my mood at this particular time of the year and certainly wouldn't have been considering my feelings when writing the lyrics (what a bastard!).  So, it would be unfair of me to dismiss this album, on this rather fickle basis.
   That being said, and time of the year aside, I feel Former Lives fails to stand up amongst the strong body of work Benjamin Gibbard has built with his previous projects; Death Cab For Cutie and The Postal Service etc.
   Former Lives is a more gentle effort from the songwriter and seems to illustrate feelings of loss and regret in a softer and more whimsical way.  The album's achingly twee a cappella opener 'Shepherd's Bush Lullaby' sums up the singer's mood in this album, as he swoons "And I hope you can hear me, in dreams be near me, as you sleep an ocean away.  And know that I love you, my every thought is of you.  Oh the clouds are begining to break".  The album then falls into a somewhat boring and comfortable groove, through the waddling guitar strumming indie pop of 'Dream Song', 'Teardrop Windows' and 'Oh, Woe', before the momentum halts completely with the jingly-jangly guitar based croon on 'Lily'.
   At this point, Former Lives acts more like an over friendly hug from a Christmas jumper wearing relative, than a truly warming and thoughtful glance from a loved one.  It's annoyingly cheery and slightly cheesy, in places, and doesn't conjure much inspiration or intrigue.
   There are moments, for example in the twinkling, invigorating tale of separation in Aimee Mann collaboration 'Bigger Than Love', the wonderfully crafted waltz of 'Something's Rattling (Cowpoke)', and in the dreamy tale of woe of 'Lady Adelaide', where Ben Gibbard's true musicality and lyrical genius shines through, much like in some of the more poignant moments of Death Cab's Narrow Stairs (2008).
   But, even with these, the album tends to be devoid of the charm and intelligence of Gibbard's previous work and seems to be pandering to a more, dare I say it, relaxed and content audience, which is unlike him.  As with most of Gibbard's work, there is an abundance of  honesty flowing through Former Lives, with numerous nods to his perspectives on growing older and coping with declines in relationships (see 'Broken Yolk In Western Sky').  However, the raw intensity and texture that can be found in the formerly mentioned Transalaticism, Narrow Stairs and even The Postal Service's Give Up (2003) are nowhere to be seen in his solo work, which is a great shame.
   All this aside, I would recommend Former Lives to fans of Benjamin Gibbard and of course Death Cab For Cutie, as it is a good clean reflection on how the singer/songwriter has matured and developed his craft.  Also, unlike me, you may find it the perfect cheery soundtrack to brighten those dark Autumn nights. You never know.


Ben Hawling