4 out of 5

Produced by: Lonpaul Ellrich

Label: Secretly Canadian

Marmoset have long been the twee juxtaposition to the stalwarts of that genre: Belle and Sebastian.  With a similar affection for lo-fi pop, soft-sung vocals, and Marm’s Jorma Whittaker and Belle’s Stuart Murdoch shared self-aware churlish grin of delivery, there are plenty of moments where hopping from liking one band to liking the other would be a cinch.

…Until Marmoset start singing about erections, or suddenly veer into sloppy-punk noise, or perhaps do away with songly conventions on the whole and just start futzing around.  Mind you, the group’s everlasting charm is that this all feels rather innocent; just following a dream-pop muse that leads them astray, only to always – and with precision – right the ship and keep it as such most of the time…  Which, for me, is the kick in the pants this style of music needs to keep it challenging, and its why I own Marmoset albums but no Belle and Sebastian.

That being said, this playful quality to Marm’s work is a feint from an emotional connection: when you think you’re feeling something while listening to a song, they giggle, and say something stupid.

Presented under his own name, Jorma Whittaker’s “solo” debut (there are other Marmoset players still lurking about, and a couple tracks sound suspiciously like Marmoset songs) seems to similarly face front, much more tonally consistent than any given record from his group.  But, in keeping with the cover image – Jorma looking at us, face mish-mash-mixed with faded clouds – there’s still a wandering veneer, the kind of addled sensibility that might lead someone to kick off an album with a seven minute, oblique, rhythm-dissected track like Clocks in the Sun.  Lyrically, the song definitely sets the standard: a cold life, everything ending and sort of beginning at the same time; a break up record recounting its singer’s flaws but not dawdling on them.  Musically, Clocks’ slow to the punch piano riff is an incredible indulgence, and one that does rear its head later in the disc as well.

But we’ll consider that the Jorma Whittaker version of the Marmoset feint.

Otherwise, this is an incredibly powerful, jangle-pop record, bedecked in direct sadness but mussing that churlish grin up into a more confident smile as Jorma finds release through the crucible of song, whether its his own concoctions of suicidal depression flipped into survival – If It’s Over – or the forceful self acceptance of Personal Light.  And if that all sound heavy, bear in mind, we’re dealing with a seasoned pop song writer, so there’s a beguiling rhythm always at work here, shaken up into downright dance floor jiggable jams like Fall In Love or a cover of the Everly Brothers’ Man With Money (which works fantastically with the album’s themes).

Marmoset would return from hiatus hereafter with a bit more focus and renewed playfulness, and I think the efforts Jorma committed to disc on this solo record had a lot to do with that.  It’s brave, serious, sad, and yet mostly fun stuff, despite itself, and an affecting album even without knowledge of the band history from whence it sprang.