In late 2001 I was at the Glass House in Pomona, excited to see the return of the Breeders, who'd been playing small shows in and around the Los Angeles area as a warm-up/showcase of their long-awaited comeback album Title TK [note: I am still awaiting the comeback to that comeback]. The opening act was Rilo Kiley, who were completely unknown to me. As they got onstage, they seemed like just a standard Los Angeles-based, emo-tinged indie rock outfit. Meh.
Then I realized that the guitar player was that dude in Salute Your Shorts. And the singer was that one girl from all those bad 80s movies/sitcoms. And I hate to say it, but the idea that two minor former child stars were in this band I'd never heard of was intriguing, and made me pay attention to them in a way I never would have were they just another boring opening band. Part of it, surely, was to see if they were worth the pique in my attention.
They weren't so much good. Most of the set was dedicated to morosely guitar-plucked ballads featuring Jenny Lewis' highly affected squeak-growl. Blake Sennett, from the very first moment he sang into the mic, made me realize that he should never sing ever. And not that it was any different from any other song they performed that night, but this:
was what finally won me over. Again, it's not very remarkable. I did enjoy the sporadic ringing quality of the guitars, Lewis' sighing sing-songy voice, the title "Pictures of Success" perhaps alluding to Lewis and Sennett's child-stardom and how it faded, but more so than that was the line "They say California is a recipe for a blackhole." Of course, now that I am 26, I have made my peace with my California background and have actually grown to love it, to miss it, to be nostalgic and embrace the state in all its wonder and beauty and oxymorons and glory. However, at this point I was 20, and seeing as I wanted nothing more than to leave my home state, I thought, "Yes, it is indeed. Smirk."
A few years later, firmly a forgotten memory, I was shopping at Lou's Records in Encinitas, one of my favorite record stores in the San Diego area--and certainly the one with the best surrounding environment:
I noticed that Rilo Kiley had released a new record, and, I suppose giddy with Encinitas air and Lou's Records and the pleasant memory of the fact that they were a pleasant opening band for the kick-ass awesome Breeders show, decided to give it a try.
One thing I noticed was that they seemed, if not to shake off their cooing plangent slight emo-ness, then at least seemed to beef up just a little with their sound, with electric guitars that actually sounded electric, Jenny Lewis rising above a whiny whisper and Cursing A Whole Lot, and a bit more momentum and verve (you know, as much as these pale skinny white kids were able to pull off). Not that there weren't remnants of cringe-worthiness: "A Better Son/Daughter" has a reserved fist-pumping anthemic quality that is tempered by generally awful therapy lyrics and idiotic phrasing by Jenny Lewis (this will be a common motif), and the earnest campfire emo sing-along anthem "With Arms Outstretched" is...well, an earnest campfire emo sing-along anthem. It also includes Conor Oberst, and this fact is actually quite important: Rilo Kiley had jumped from LA to bandwagon onto the then-trendy Omaha scene, which trafficked almost exclusively in unbearably sincere acoustic folk-rock in the vein of Rilo Kiley.
Their bandwagoning is a bit of hilarious irony, because it is in effect very insincere: an attempt to move towards credibility, i.e. away from Los Angeles, away from their roots/history/background and towards a homespun organic scene in a humbler, less glitzy town that champions an earnest hard-earned kind of indie ethos. Rilo Kiley, then, are typical L.A. poseurs, neurotic about their intellectual and/or "cred"-based shortcomings, willing to play a role in order for social advancement--but an indie world advancement where downgrading/refutation of success and/or ambition is the path to greater status. That is so not L.A., guys. Which is why a neurotic L.A. poseur would deem this a worthy sojourn: I will renounce all Los Angeles-based stereotypes of beauty and populism and embrace a humbler more down-to-earth ideology so that I may not be deemed a Los Angeleno stereotype.
Which makes "Spectacular Views" their greatest song to date. The following is a less RAWK, more Humble Cred Indie performance of the song, complete with Belle & Sufjanstian tuba or whateverthefuck farting horn that is:
At the time, being in San Diego and surrounded by my own spectacular views, I didn't fully appreciate that the song was basically a love letter to Los Angeles, to the coast, to your history there. Now that I am 3.5 years and three thousand miles removed from my hometown, I understand it. Bad times, the creation/reasons for neuroses, black hole recipes: sometimes you just have to forget it all and look at the coast and exclaim "IT'S SO FUCKING BEAUTIFUL." This song convinced me that Rilo Kiley could be California's Bon Jovi.
What's funny about their Omaha Cred-Building Journey is that once they got it, they hi-tailed it right back to SoCal and the realm of mainstream respectability via Major Label Contract. That's a Los Angeleno for you. We're scheming careerist motherfuckers. By all accounts (and my ears about once), More Adventurous was a possibly apt title if not for the better--oh, so you think now you can just do whatever the hell you want, huh?--as it didn't really cohere into a satisfyingly full listen, despite having some great highs ("Portions For Foxes"). Lewis and Sennett then both did the Humble Indie Cred thing in solo projects, only to come together for Rilo Kiley's latest Under The Black Light, the cover of which seems like a celebration of L.A. hipster club trash culture. In spite of the hopeful Fleetwood Mac comparisons, Rilo Kiley aren't really successful in this celebration, in really becoming the big quintessential California rock band that they are so obviously capable of being. Much of the record is bland and tepid, and some of it is downright excruciating, especially when they morph into the Miami Sound Machine on "Dejalo." "The Moneymaker" is like a defanged/less-yowly version of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' "Gold Lion." But despite some bad lyrics and a template country-jangle, "The Angels Hung Around" seems to acknowledge Rilo Kiley's full circle California bait-and-switch:
I been clubbed and I been snubbed by the Dogs of L.A.
And I been burned and I been learned in the same city
But you're back nonetheless. And this is why Rilo Kiley, despite the fact that much of their music is generally cringe-worthy and embarrassing to me, will always earn my unconditional love: There has been no band that elucidates such a complicated love affair with California as well as them, and one that is so similar to my own. Songs: yes. Albums: of course. But a band's entire oeuvre, whether intentional or not? Not to me.
Incidentally guys, some decent acting in this:
Guess you can't really shake your past, huh.
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