2 out of 5

Label: Spoilt Records

Producer: Certainly, Sir

One half (or maybe the majority) of Certainly, Sir is Michael Brodeur, whose breathy vocals I fell in love with when he sang over the jangly discordant punk of the here-and-then-gone The Wicked Farleys.  I’d always been curious what that gang got up to after that group, and thus tracked down this CD (or, y’know, searched for it on Amazon), since I saw Brodeur as a ringleader of sorts.

And let’s just say: environment has a lot to do with our perception of things.  It’s certainly Brodeur: the lilt and sing-song pace of his lyrics are the same, with the dreamy half-in half-out flow of simple to serious to light-hearted to silly, but stripped of the Farleys noisy blast, most of the words come across as… weak.  I feel no power behind almost any moment of Mugic, and those times where you decide to dig down and hear out what Brodeur has to say aren’t always so rewarding as the gems that would poke through with the Farleys.  ‘Mercury’ and ‘The Vacant Lot Of My Heart’ are particularly close to noxious, but they’re lovey songs which, admittedly, rub me the wrong way normally, so that’s that.  Elsewhere, taking the lyrics out of the music context by reading the liner notes, there are some interesting concepts, even on songs that sound rather simplistic, such as ‘Hello.’  The chorus on that track comes across as syruply silly, but you check the lyrics and those darker elements I recalled are still there: ‘Don’t dream of water or of snow / don’t dream of people you don’t know / Some things were built to last / and after lasting leave / Practice saying H-E-L-L-O.”  But even recognizing that, I have trouble getting past the rather tepid temperature of the songs overall, which skitter between Postal Service beats and – ugh – R&Bish Looper like on opener ‘Sweet Time.’  When more fleshed out songs emerge – ‘My Bad’ (which comes close to the structure of something off of WF’s ‘Make It It’) or ‘The Script’ – the whole picture seems to come together – Brodeur’s words feel more relevant, you’re tapping your toe.  But most of the rest of the album, unfortunately, just sinks into an inoffensive flow of keys and weepy boy beep bop.

Weepy boy beep bop is how I’d describe Postal Service, FYI.