The Shins
Wincing The Night Away
SubPop Records

Expectations are a funny thing. The critical notices that have greeted the Shins’ third album are almost dripping with a feeling of being let down. Robert Christgau’s lucid assessment of the album in a recent issue of Rolling Stone is especially filled with an air of regret at a band that was supposed to be the American saviour of the three minute pop song (the Canadians have cornered the market on that in their neck of the woods thanks, in no small part, to Carl Newman, thank you very much).

I have never been one of those to buy into the notion of this group being one to shout about. Each of the two albums that have preceded this one left me with no impression whatsoever. Each song felt like a flat, vertical surface covered with a thin sheen of oil, leaving me with nothing to grasp on to for some kind of purchase. Needless to say, I had no preconceived life changing notions when I was asked to review the Shins’ latest release, Wincing the Night Away.

I’m not saying that this affords me any better of an idea about how to approach this record. In fact, now that the record hit #2 on the Billboard charts in the first week of its release, I’m wondering if I’m not missing something. Yet, try as I might, I’m still left wanting by what the group is trying to accomplish on this album. And what are they trying to accomplish? From the unassuming and tentative sound of the 11 songs on this new disc, nothing more than to give a young hipster couple something to half-talk about while trying to not look each other in the eyes.

That nervous tension emanates from almost every moment on Wincing. None of the songs move faster than a gentle gallop and each is imbued with an air of melancholy that weighs even the sunniest sounding melodies down.

What the band showcases throughout this album is their almost reflexive use of restraint when it comes to their playing and songcraft. No instrument dares to take a lead role, but settles in to a quiet lockgroove, especially in the case of drummer Jesse Sandoval whose has become a master at bare minimum beats. When someone attempts something resembling a solo (usually keyboardist Marty Crandall), it appears in an unsure fashion and disappears as quickly as it arrived.

It is then up to front man James Mercer to use his voice and his lyrics to mold the songs into divisions of verse, chorus, and bridge. Even there, the group runs into trouble. Mercer’s vocals have a quiet distinction, but their wavering quality turns even their best melodies into a warm mush. The saving grace could have been some bold lyrical content to open the songs up even a crack, but Mercer tosses imagery around in a haphazard fashion, leaving the listener picking up the pieces and wondering just what he’s getting at.

Maybe the world wasn’t anticipating an insular pop record from the Shins but it feels like Mercer wasn’t capable of anything more grandiose than this. It hasn’t felt like that from the start of this band’s career. If nothing else, Wincing is a showcase for a band settling comfortably into their self-appointed niche. And it sounds as if it would take a wrecking ball to break them out of it. Until someone does just that, the Shins will forever remain an enigma to me, buzzing in the background of the music world, giving off nothing to make me break my stride or change my life.

[mp3] The Shins - Phantom Limb