IN REVIEW: Death Cab for Cutie - "Asphalt Meadows"

 

While helping to usher in indie rock's breakout period by creating their most accessible and dynamic work just as the masses' ears were perking up to the Modest Mice and Bloc Parties of the world, Death Cab for Cutie found themselves a go-to for lovestruck listeners who identified with Ben Gibbard's tales of longing and relationships on 2003's breakthrough record Transatlanticism. By the time they made their major debut (2005's Plans), Gibbard had finely honed the skill of encapsulating love's extremes, from fear and doubt to devotion and commitment. To further illustrate just how well their songs speak to these extremes, just listen to Title and Registration and I Will Follow You Into the Dark back to back with the knowledge that these two vastly different takes on romance were released just two years apart.

Such has been the way of Death Cab's records, each more or less mirroring Gibbard's personal ups and downs as he's found and lost love repeatedly along the course of the twenty-five years since their debut EP; that said, change is in the air with tenth album Asphalt Meadows. More than any Death Cab album in recent memory, this new material finds Gibbard looking inward for inspiration rather than into past or current relationships, a likely by-product of increased isolation due to the pandemic. That's not to say the record is devoid of longing and pining, one just gets the feeling listening to Asphalt Meadows that it's meant more as a self-help exercise than a lovelorn manifesto.

Lead track I Don't Know How I Survive is well within this realm, echoing the uncertainty and panic of the world's current state with lines like "praying, even though you don't believe, just in case they are received". Musically, it's a brightly coloured mid-tempo number with percussive background flourishes and a piercing, dissonant chorus. Roman Candles is a little jarring with its incessant thump, thick bass line and shrill guitar stabs; it's a messy track, though it's an admirable swerve into rough waters for a band best known for tasteful, subdued rock. It turns out to be an outlier, followed by the much more restrained title track, which even allows for some of Gibbard's classic romanticism. Things slow down with Rand McNally, a richly textured waltz that uses well-worn road trip metaphors to stress the importance of both the journey and the destination. 

Here to Forever starts with a morbid stance (on it, Gibbard is struck by the realization that everyone acting in the classic movies he's watching has passed away) and uses it to explore his own mortality while acknowledging just how little control he has in determining when it's time to go. It's an interesting message surrounded by a juxtaposed upbeat and inviting melody. Foxglove Through the Clearcut, meanwhile, acts as the album's centerpiece and places a stark and poetic spoken word delivery onto a full-bodied, mournful instrumental; it's not what anyone would call a typical Death Cab song, but it's hard to imagine it's taken this long for them to create something this uniquely majestic.

The B-side starts with the acoustic earworm Pepper, a song that ticks all the boxes of what you want in a Death Cab song even if it does so with perhaps just a bit too much calculation; put another way, it's perfectly pleasant but not the least bit unexpectedly so. I Miss Strangers, however, does surprise with its propulsive post-punk rhythm, jagged guitars and Gibbard's lamentations on losing live performances as an outlet. The slow, psychedelic shift at the song's midpoint allows for the song to work itself back into speed and truly take off toward its conclusion. This is followed by the laid back Wheat Like Waves, which recounts a trip across the Canadian prairies, the kind of drive that's woefully dull for anyone besides Gibbard, who finds the poetry in even the most mundane details (such as the glow of the dashboard and listening to Prefab Sprout).

Fragments from the Decade goes for more of a slow burn approach, gradually building up its layers as Gibbard peruses family photo albums and searches for inspiration and answers; it's sonically interesting but lacks the impact of the album's more effective tracks. Then, to close out the album, we get the fuzzed out groove of I'll Never Give Up On You; it's a simple tune at its heart, with Gibbard reassuring the song's subject of his devotion while listing off all the vices and toxic traits that he's happily left behind. As the song repeats its titular refrain, a cacophony of sounds spring forth, giving the album a proper, loud sendoff.

Overall, Asphalt Meadows is notable for its willingness to experiment and its reinvigorated approach, neither of which are typical of a band's tenth album; it may not rival earlier highlights in their catalogue, but it's a refreshing and interesting new chapter after the mixed results of the last decade or so. Whether or not this record lights a path to the band's future remains to be seen, of course; however, should they continue to follow this road, they're bound to end up somewhere with a great view.

September 16, 2022 • Atlantic

Highlights Here to Forever • Foxglove Through the Clearcut • I Miss Strangers