Superchunk Ascends to the Next Level with New Album

For a while, Chapel Hill was the next Seattle.

Which is not to say it was primed to be the source of a Cobain-esque superstar, or that kids nationwide started dressing like North Carolinians or that everything north of Chapel Hill was going to be ceded to Canada (however entertaining that might have been). What Chapel Hill inherited from Seattle is the burden of having every pathetic college-town scene compared to what Chapel Hill was in its supposed prime.

Actual residents of the area may have a different perspective, but as far as much of the rest of the country is concerned, Chapel Hill was too busy truckin' along to grab the brass ring. Scene pioneers Superchunk might shift 30,000 units now instead of 3,000, but in return they have become small fish in a pond where A&R sharks actually say things like "shifting major units."(Yes, Kurt Cobain wrote a song about this. Move along.)

1995's Here's Where The Strings Come In bore the subtle marks of a potential breakdown. For a band that calls its publishing company All Songs Sound The Same Music, they displayed little awareness of how little difference down-tempo songs and complicated arrangements made to the record's sound. It wasn't bad (wasn't terrible, anyway) but people who bought the album, bought the hype and subsequently bought the back-catalogue noticed that Mac McCaughan's ragtag quarter sounded like a Superchunk cover band.

Well, Polvo have turned into Led Zeppelin 20 years late and without the world-wide stardom, and the Squirrel Nut Zippers are big enough that nobody cares in what state they grew up. And Superchunk has a new album. The surprise: it's not just good, it's probably the best album they've ever released. They've written better songs, and the singles collection Throwing Seeds can still bury Indoor Living alive, but singles don't keep veteran bands afloat unless they're filling stadiums or far more prolific than Superchunk.

Without making a clear departure from Strings, they've juggled the parts of the formula just right. They've still trying to slow it down a little, but the slow songs mostly eschew gimmickry outside the emotional punch of McCaughan's three-note voice going from "sing" to "scream." Maybe his solo records as Portastatic sharpened his song writing. "Marquee" and "Under Our Feet" are touching, and the closing joke ("Martinis On The Roof") is unusually dignified, as if Mac doesn't need indignance as badly as he once did.

Adding buzzy effects to "Nu Bruises" saves it from limbo. Without the subtle touches it would have simply begged you to switch this disc with an older one; as it is, you can call it the high point of the record without feeling bad. "Unbelievable Things" similarly tweaks its predecessors just enough to make comparisons petty. Not to say change is always for the better: "European Medicine" features an unprecedented amount of hooting, and, in case anyone is unclear on the point, that's bad.

The unfairness of ignoring lyrics balances neatly against the unfairness of scrutinizing lyrics too carefully, so trust that Superchunk can still write words which seem meaningful while you're singing along, and think no more of it. "The Popular Music" (the other best track) features temperate commentary on its namesake. Personal reflection on what it's like to be a musician (or, more accurately, the belief that anyone cares about that reflection) has made Ben Lee, Everclear and Weezer all look like morons, but it pays off in this case.

Once it looked as though Superchunk were doomed never to make an entire album where the casual listener could remember each individual song well enough afterward to, say, name it or state with conviction that it was one of 11 songs as opposed to three. Now we know they're working on it, and that listening to the slow ascent will be worth it.