On their seventh album in nine years,
Smart Brown Handbag's frontman/guitarist/singer/songwriter, David Steinhart, continues to play the nerdy, lyrically obsessed geek who would rather write in his journals than shoot hoops with the guys. With songs influenced by
the Smiths and
Morrissey, along with jangly melodies somewhat like early
R.E.M., Steinhart apparently spends more time composing his words than his melodies, many of which don't register on first listening. Pleasant but seldom rocking, Steinhart never lets go long enough to create a groove with tunes that seem to have been written around the (too) plentiful lyrics. In that way, he shares a trait with Michael Stipe, both of whom write in a 'stream of consciousness' fashion. But
SBH's non-linear, often non-rhyming cadences will either invite extra playings, or discourage them. With a voice that fluctuates between an easygoing
John Wesley Harding lilt, and the gloomier
Psychedelic Furs' Richard Butler, Steinhart sings as if reading from his diary, seemingly composing more words as he goes along. It's easy to compliment him for the studious work he puts into writing this album, but less easy to actually enjoy it. Steinhart obviously takes himself very seriously, as these songs border on the pretentious, but they're often held in check by the band, who adds an upbeat feel even as the singer croons his innermost thoughts. There's a dark, downbeat sensibility throughout, so those who need their pop with singalong choruses and easily grasped structures should not apply. But if you want to share in Steinhart's pain, there is plenty here to go around. ~ Hal Horowitz