The Hard Quartet: The Hard Quartet

I’m gritting my teeth as I type this, but is it possible I’ve outgrown Pavement? Or, more accurately, Stephen Malkmus? Has his weird jammy, hippie schtick worn thin? Am I tired of his anti-tuneful, rambling aesthetic and occasionally cringey lyric choices? Or, more directly, did I ever really enjoy it? Or was I just fooling myself the entire time, coasting on the fumes of a band that I most definitely did enjoy? I read back my Stephen Malkmus & the Jicks reviews, and while I don’t seem completely put off, I’m definitely not jumping for joy. Hardly a ringing endorsement for a person who was once the coolest slacker in all the land.

And, look, I get that shambling is their whole thing, but if I wanted to hear The Dead I’d get in a time machine and fucking kill myself. Truly. The whole point of this music was to be a snob. To metaphorically kick the deadheads and metalheads and asshats who listened to The Doors and The Eagles in the nertz. And now we are them. Tell me Jerry wouldn’t groove to “Rio’s Song” and “Our Hometown Boy” and be like “I coulda written that.” Hard? More like… not hard! Seriously, what are we doing here? These are not particularly good songs. Which leads me to ask if Malkmus thinks they’re good? His quirks are all over most these tunes — at least the ones that aren’t the more rock-like dalliances or sung by others — so I have to assume he’s the primary author. They’re not terrible, but they are not good. So if he thinks they’re good, do I have to re-think my relationship with his music as a whole? Or can I just chalk it up maturity? The cursed maturity.

If I’m being honest, the second time through the album is actually better than the first. I suppose that is the real difference between Malkmus’ early career and this, his second two-thirds. Not much immediately grabs you. Nothing jumps out and makes you understand why this out-of-tune troubadour with the inane lyrics about fingers and gulleys is a genius. It’s all too pleasant and pedestrian. Too aware of itself in a way that hasn’t been cool since 1997. I assume he thinks the band name is ironic and sneakily funny. It’s not. And I don’t want to give short shrift to the other dudes in the quartet… But I actually own a Chavez CD (though the dude was also in Billy Corgan’s phoenix-from-the-ashes Pumpkins follow-up, Zwan!). And I don’t know anything about Dirty Three, but if there was ever a band that sounded like a bunch of hippies, that’s it. Apparently they’re an Australian instrumental group? Hoofa. Whatever the case, I can’t say I’ll be revisiting this album any day soon, unless a dispensary moves in next door and goes up in a huge blaze. It’s a real contact high kind of record.