
It’s great when old friends come to visit. Times change, everyone evolves, but the same commonality that bound you in the first place holds firm, and your divergent paths feel intertwined.
Such is the case with bands too. Old friends, companions in your life, come back with different names, new faces, new hairstyles, but the good artists still know how to make your toes tap and your head bob.
The new Wonderlick album feels like a long overdue visit from an old friend.
Once upon a time, the ’90s microphenomenon Too Much Joy brought eponymous excesses of euphoria to the handfuls of They Might Be Giants, Barenaked Ladies, and Rancid fans who found them. While TMJ eventually ceased to exist except as a mandibular condition, two of its key minds continued in their spare time as WL. These guys don’t have a lot of spare time — during the day Tim Quirk is Rhapsody’s VP of Programming, and Jay Blumenfield is a TV producer and director.
“Topless at the Arco Arena” marks their first full-length release in eight years. It continues TMJ’s and WL’s flavor of ponderous pop, introspective and snarky, dripping with cynical optimism.
The liner notes are dominated by Quirk’s essay that gave the album its name, which reflects on the power an AC/DC concert had to incite young women to bare their chests for the entire crowd. The album, like the essay, riffs on that dynamic of empowerment versus exploitation, the uncomfortable mingling of individuality with commercialism that so saturates rock music as well as the Wikipedia-Twitter-Google-powered world that gives so many part-time musicians and fans their livelihood, and made so many would-be rockers trade their guitars for dayjobs.
But that sounds awfully heady for such a fun album.
“Topless” tells tales of arena concerts and board rooms, of crass wealth and amateur passions, and of the power and vulnerability that comes with both. From the stripped-down bubblegum pop of “A Different Kind of Love”, and the more sinister jauntiness of “This Song is a Commercial”, to the sweeping landscapes of “You First” and “Your Majesty”, Wonderlick celebrates the humble majesty of its diverse cast of characters — the ones you’d have a beer with, and the ones you’d likely never see outside their limos.
While the messages are sometimes subtle (“The Case Against Tattoos”), sometimes blatant (“This Song is a Commercial”, “The C.E.O. Considers His Holdings”), even their heavy moments keep a light-hearted touch.
“Devil Horns” brings the album to an anthemic close, poking fun at the idolatry of so many rock fans, but with a certain reverence. Like old friends who know you well enough to be aware of all your foibles, but who love you anyway.
Perhaps that’s the sort of perspective that comes from a couple of regular guys who just happen to have been intermittent rock stars for the last two decades.
Order the album and download free MP3s on the band’s site.