The most difficult thing for college musicians is probably getting a sense of universality in an otherwise self-obsessed, self-important world closed off to any sort of reality beyond implied melodrama. Finals and midterms become the epic conclusions of periods of time, potential dates become the princesses in ivory towers, and Frat Guys, the evil villains of a life lived larger and more originally in the mind than in the world. And to be honest, perhaps that is what I myself miss most about college: the sense of living in a bubble and knowing that only those bubble issues mean anything to anyone I know.
Perhaps the most disappointing thing about Withstand the Whatnot is exactly that inability to separate Bubble Importance from any sense of understanding for and by the audience. Issues fly at you, each song a college newspaper column on the Step Show last weekend, the Frat Guys you wanted to fight, the long distance girlfriend. But these issues seem only important to The Cocker Spaniels, and quite possibly their same-bubble fanbase. For the rest of us, the references and themes are completely missed.
Even when trying for a more universal theme, The Cocker Spaniels somehow seem to alienate everyone but the lead singer with songs like “Your Things in the Yard,” bemoaning the issues of divorcing parents. Yet the issues hit only cliché, missing any true sense of personal pain or introspection which might actually pull the listener in. Or songs like “The Only Black Guy at the Indie Rock Show,” which pokes fun at Indiefucks glancing askance at any African-American audience members at said Indie Rock Show. Yet beyond a clever premise, the song falls short of any potential, constantly making the same references over and over and over. Hey, we get it. Only black guy at the Indie rock show, right? Got it.
The Cocker Spaniels seem to go for a unique sound in this day and age, something akin to 60’s Garage Rock combined with a straight Indie Rock mentality of easy songs, occasional piano, and a shake of backup vocals. But more than anything, the songs become repetitive, with no real chord resolution. It’s almost like a lengthy rambling jam session with occasionally repeating lyrics and a lack of systematic choruses. Which is not to say experimentation isn’t a good thing, but more to say that the songs lack any sense of pop mentality or hook to them. The listener is alienated yet again. And while lead singer Sean Padilla has a Matthew Sweet-like tonal quality, its often working against the very things he’s going for (example: sounding exactly like the “Jerk White Guy” voice in the “Only Black Guy …” song).
In the end, there’s a lot going on here. But not anything to grab me as a listener, and plenty to push me away. Maybe after a few Beast Lights and a round of body shots?
---Jonathan Novak, September 2004
(P.S. I have no fricking clue what "Beast Lights" OR "body shots" are. Someone e-mail me and tell me what he's talking about. --- SP)