Ted Leo & The Pharmacists - Hearts of Oak

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Free Music Notes for Hearts of Oak

Free Music Review: 8.3 out of 10.0/Pitchforkmedia Review
Hit: 5 Stars

Exhibit A: My love for Ted Leo, the man who most embodies any kind of Jesus act rock 'n' roll still has left in it. And while I'm hesitant to jinx him with such hyperbole, the fact remains that he's one of the few guitar slingers I'll still go to bat for, and not just because he hails from the same city-district in which I make my residence. Not only shunning standard-issue hipster influences like VU and The Stooges in favor of didn't-know-they-were-supposed-to-be-good bands like Thin Lizzy and Dexy's Midnight Runners, Leo also wields his two specialty instruments-- manic guitar and maniac voice-- with unbridled enthusiasm rather than studied posturing.

So, of course, I'm happy to see one of my favorite short people enthused about in the pages of Spin and Alternative Press for his new record, Hearts of Oak, as I'm more than happy to share the man with the rest of the world. But my critical duties compel me to point out that Hearts of Oak is a few steps off the pace of Leo's previous album, The Tyranny of Distance, an album so good it makes me want to commit that ultimate indie sin and preach that if Everyone Had Heard It, It Would've Been a Nationwide Top 10 For Sure. Freeing Leo's sound from the punk constraints of his former band, Chisel, and the experimental dub leanings of his pretty much unlistenable debut Rx/Pharmacists, Tyranny was thee rock album of 2001, Strokes and Stripes be damned.

For such a drooling fanboy as I, Hearts of Oak almost can't help being a step down, but thankfully, it's a small one. Leo mostly sticks to the same formula of his previous album, playing to his strengths with only minor alterations. Most notably, Leo betrays a deeper fascination with all things percussive-- rarely does a track not feature noisemakers or tambourines rattling around somewhere in the mix. The Head Pharmacist still pulls near-combustible pop songs like "The Anointed One" and "2nd Ave., 11 AM" out of every orifice with apparent ease, now coated with a Krispy Kreme-like glaze of sale items from Maracas & More!

This approach culminates in the album's centerpiece, "The Ballad of the Sin Eater", where the only things not being shaken or hit with sticks are the bassline and Leo's vocal cords. Coming off like "Sympathy for the Devil" on Methamphetamine, Leo speak-sings a tale of traveling the world with ugly-American-guilt ("you didn't think they could HATE ya now didja?"). It doesn't pack the wallop of the live version, already known to throw out the backs of the unprepared, but even the recorded version steals my attention away from whatever form of entertainment I'm simultasking.

Elsewhere, Leo does his thing more traditional-style, quaffing liberally from the big-riff and catchy-hook barrels. Not-a-Paula-Cole-parody "Where Have All the Rude Boys Gone?" eulogizes The Specials as Leo unhinges his voice like a snake swallowing a rabbit, caterwauling, "Foo-awoo-awoo-awoo-awoo-LESH!!" at the unconverted. And through it all, his rotating crew of Pharmacists sounds anything but transitory, even slipping into a convincing Booker T. & The MGs groove on the Boston-referencing "Bridges, Squares".

Yet, as I said, I still find Hearts of Oak to be a slight sidewalk trip from The Tyranny of Distance, so let's just get my complaints out of the way now, shooting gallery-style. "Dead Voices" is the first time I've ever heard Leo's pipes fail him, resonating at an uncomfortable range like someone who started the National Anthem in too high of a key. Leo's assets usually mean he can hold an audience rapt with a solo number, but "First to Finish, Last to Start" is marred by an overdubbed guitar solo that's completely oblivious to the chord changes. And yeah, I could do without the whistling in "The Crane Takes Flight".

But Hearts of Oak still comes out smelling much sweeter than the releases of Leo's fellow glossy-mag guitar loyalists. Eschewing pretentious unpretentiousness for unguarded passion, strict 77-82 influences for the classic rock stop on the FM dial, calculated instrumental inadequacy for guitar solos that are less technical flaunting (looking at you, Malkmus) than skillful, noisy exorcisms, Ted Leo makes a sound filled with so much authentic abandon, the British mags probably can't handle it. And that, my friends, is just about the biggest endorsement I can give.

-Rob Mitchum, February 7th, 2003

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