I don’t usually bother with listening parties because, as anyone who routinely makes the commute from O.C. to L.A. will attest, plowing through rush-hour traffic to make it in time for just about anything can be more hassle than it’s worth. Only when major albums are kept under lock and key, exclusively heard (for a while) at a label’s offices will I really make a concerted effort to carve out time and endure the trek. (Coldplay’s X&Y and Green Day’s American Idiot were treated this way.)
Once in a while, however, things work out fortuitously. Such was the case Monday night, as I was able to squeeze in a preview of Jack Johnson’s fourth proper album, Sleep Through the Static (due Feb. 5), while en route to PJ Harvey’s stunner at the Orpheum.
I’m glad I made the time. Usually at these media rushes, a handful of nerdy scribes like myself will lounge about comparing our brain’s capacity for storing useless trivia until a frightened publicist will put whatever record on. Imagine my surprise, then, to mosey up to the front door of Brushfire Records’ Solar Powered Plastic Plant Studio in L.A.’s Larchmont Village, only to find Jack himself stretched out on the stoop, chatting with skateboarder-turned-jazz-punk (and recent Brushfire signing) Ray Barbee.
As shy as you might suspect yet unfailingly polite, Jack warmly extended a hand, led me inside and showed off the place a bit. (That’s him recording the album in the pic above.) It was only later that I realized I should have entered through a side alley, in which case I might have missed this encounter. And I’m sure I would have bent his ear a bit longer than I did, were it not for the fact that the drive up had left me with a bladder begging to be unloaded – after which he had been surrouned by other people.
I never did get another word with Jack, either before or after 30 or so of us were ushered into the studio where he cut these tunes to hear Sleep Through the Static direct from the master tapes. (What a sweet sound that was. The sharp set finds Brushfire Fairytales’ mood-shaper JP Plunier back behind the boards, and his warm touch is instantly evident.) A bit of a refraining wallflower in such situations anyway, I tend to give celebs their space; Jack, for instance, seemed pleased but also a little ill-at-ease chatting with folks before spinning his latest work. (Instead, Barbee and I got on famously, sharing memories of the Minutemen.)
Afterward, once I was inspired by his strong work and eager to tell him that at least three or four of these new songs are among the best he’s written, well, Jack was nowhere to be found. That wasn’t surprising. While introducing Sleep to his guests, he noted that to some degree he had been reluctantly persuaded to host this unusually intimate, quesadilla-filled listening party by his Brushfire partners. (They plan to stage similar previews for press and industry types in New York and London.) I could see him mill about on the outside patio while the rest of us bobbed our heads to the fresh grooves, but it struck me as perfectly understandable that a guy who indulges few interviews would duck inside and avoid discussion of the new set immediately after unveiling it.
Undoubtedly he’d have gotten nothing but compliments – not just because that’s normally how people are while hobnobbing, but more importantly because I bet most of the praise would have been sincere. Sleep Through the Static is undeniably another mellow winner from the surfer-turned-songwriter, one that smartly extends the baby-step advances made by 2005’s In Between Dreams while adding a much more soulful feel in spots (especially the Band-like finish) and adding a bit more bite to Gentle Jack’s running commentary about global affairs and the environment. The title track in particular, decrying the prolonging and mishandling of the Iraq War, is the most trenchant thing he has penned: “We went beyond where we should have gone,” he insists repeatedly in the chorus, never casting blame, only trying to rouse people out of apathy with timeless sentiments.
Yet, as was the case on In Between Dreams – in which simple but resonant statements like “Good People” were countered by homespun romances like “Banana Pancakes” and “Do You Remember?” – Jack once again has balanced his subtly bolder thinkers (all of them universal pleas that rarely lapse into diatribes) with a hearty helping of more, uh, brushfire fairytales that evoke snuggled-up nights at the beach after a long day in the sunshine. Jack has an uncanny knack for mining the same musical terrain again and again yet still coming up with refreshingly straightforward, Jim Croce-ish melodies that stick, no matter how much your better judgment tells you he’s made this record already.
And of course he has: I make this comparison all the time, but it’s so plainly obvious that he’s already our James Taylor, reliable for thoughtful, well-crafted platters that seem instantly familiar because they tweak his formula only slightly. There are far worse things to be, and I’d argue there’s more reason than ever to have a soft sound salvation like Jack’s to temper everyday madness. Though it was only one listen, I found major parts of his latest disarmingly lovely – more calmatives from a man already a master of the form.
Bottom line: Jack fans are gonna cherish it – and surely will ensconce it at the top of the iTunes most-downloaded chart just like its predecessor.
… Ben
