If Cobain hadn’t snuffed himself, a nation in mourning may not have turned to the anesthetizing Blue Album for blissed out suburban comfort; in turn, troubled parents might have hesitated in popping Prozac into the gaping maw of a generation already inculcated with escapism. A more focused, less weepy record-buying public might instead have turned to the criminally neglected Vainly Clutching at Phantom Limbs and inspired Elf Power to hone its jagged angst instead of blunting their sound to a dull hum so psychedelic it might be mistaken for a busted air conditioner. In turn, Elf Power’s Andrew Rieger could pursue a sporadic academic career desperately seeking authenticity of purpose, while Rivers Cuomo could maybe open up a falafel stand or something and autograph pitas for dozens of Theta Kis spring-breaking in the flatlands…
However, the flux capacitor’s shot, I’m stuck here in 2007 and I can’t fix the incongruity of the space-time continuum or introduce Chuck Berry’s cousin to Appetite for Destruction, which, I’m sure, everyone will agree would have sped things up a bit. The best I can do is relate the virtues of Elf Power’s debut against a career that careens towards blander, less visceral material, marking them as the most meager monster to emerge from the Atlanta suburbs since the first shitty R.E.M. record.
The crux of Vainly Clutching at Phantom Limbs rests on the album’s fourth cut, a cover of The Dwarves’ “Drug Store.” Rieger drains the rambunctious refrain of its intended frenetic energy and imbues it with the sweet, sweet apathy and angst of a sophomore PE class. The inclusion of a Dwarves’ song suggests a primogeniture that Elf Power has since distanced itself from, and subtly introduces the themes of alienation, adolescent disillusionment and involuntary catharsis, which dominate the record as a veritable rock anthem. Reiger cushions his darker motifs with a lyrical joviality that keeps self pity at bay, drawing allusions to Pinkerton. While admittedly steeped in high school heroics, notions like “You self righteous motherfucker/I don’t give a shit what you had for supper” go down smooth and almost radio friendly thanks to Reiger’s dirty finesse. The surgery and amputee motifs that litter the record develop a markedly complex metaphor of heartbreak as limb loss that permeates the album without crowding it, leaving room for the distortion jam-outs and GBV-ish esoteric pop cuts that prevent Vainly Clutching… from becoming a senior thesis on loneliness. Elf Power have discarded many of the classic song styles that make their debut so strong, allowing a love of arena/anthem rock to mutate into a lolling interest in marches on later albums, kind of a return to old-world aesthetics that blends a potentially solid band into the grey tapestry of indie rock like so much frizzing wool.
While the strictly lo-fi aesthetic of Vainly Clutching at Phantom Limbs might be the most galvanizing aspect of the recording, it incorporates itself into the character of the album, adding a caustic layer to an already dense mélange of distortion and bittersweet pubescent contempt. It gives the songs a sense of covert self satisfaction. Latter day Elf Power has intentionally retained the semblance of low production value with little consequence, except perhaps to masque the heavy influence fellow E6er’s have had on Elf Power’s sound and style. The civilizing effect of the Elephant 6 collective on a band like Elf Power has proven disastrous: Spanish blankets to the Aztecs disastrous. Certainly, Reiger & Co. could never have maintained the raw, sarcastic malevolence for long, but their distance from this strong, albeit particular, debut boggles the mind.
It’s sort of like meeting that scary kid from art history a few years after graduation, and he’s got a crew cut, some urban outfitter gear and he pretends you never saw where he carved that pentagram in his arm back in 10th grade. “But dude, have you heard Beefheart?” Man, I miss that kid...
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