Into the Woods

Chronique

Into the Woods, Malcolm Middleton's second solo album, begins with one of the better songs that says "I'm screwed either way." If his new love doesn't break his heart, his career will be over. (He's not one to write happy songs.) If his new love does break his heart, he'll at least have his "sh*t songs." Both scenarios have their advantages, but those advantages come with disadvantages -- which can be sort of rationalized into advantages. (That might just be wishful thinking.) Into the Woods is, for the most part, louder, more extroverted, and less messy than 2003's 5:14 Fluoxytine Seagull Alcohol John Nicotine the Pawn Art School Dance Doo-Dah. Middleton seems to be over whatever apprehensions he had as a vocalist -- he's just as capable as Arab Strap partner Aidan Moffat and sounds a lot more comfortable here -- and it's quite probable that he realized the potential he has to make a real, proper album without so many visible stitches. (5:14, while nothing to sniff at, certainly had all the characteristics of a stray-idea, hastily assembled, home-recorded, "let me sing" side release. If any bad words were directed at it, Middleton could've taken the easy way out by responding, "Yeah, well, they were just sketches.") Without paying attention to the words, it'd be easy to think that Middleton's life has taken a sharp turn upward -- only a couple arrangements could be categorized as glum. But it's mostly the same old Middleton, taking himself down, cursing everything in and out of sight, and cracking jokes at his own expense. As if further support were needed for the notion that Arab Strap have two remarkable (and remarkably productive) songwriters, here's some more. And if you've always appreciated Arab Strap's lyrics but wished the actual music were a little livelier and at least two-dimensional with greater frequency, this should be right up your alley.

© Andy Kellman /TiVo