The first listening of We, The Vehicles should be more striking and revelatory than it actually is in practice. I cannot offer a definitive explanation for why this is true. One critical reason is likely that it is difficult for anyone to ever come remotely close to fully appreciating a quality album when hearing it for the first time. Repeated exposure is generally required for even the catchiest of melodies to resonate while the subtleties of an exceptional recording cannot be absorbed without repeated samplings. Perhaps I simply experienced We, The Vehicles for the first time in a less than ideal setting by listening to the album passively while dealing with mundane tasks at work. Regardless, after obsessing over every last note of Maritime’s second full length for the better part of a month, I find it shocking that the first thirty seconds of the album alone did not provoke me to leap up from my chair in ecstasy.
The sleek, melodic, and buzzing guitar line which signals the beginning of “Calm” immediately breaks loose from the shackles of the balladry which dominates Wood/Water and Glass Floor. As if in direct protest against the mindlessly introspective down tempo tunes representative his recent work, Davey von Bohlen opens the track by singing “Ballads laugh at everyone / worse than silence is their song” over a driving, head bobbing rhythm. Propelled by instrumentation that is neither sparse nor subdued, it is von Bohlen’s soaring vocal melody as opposed to the unspectacular quality of his vocals which grabs the listeners’ attention. Twice, the song builds until Dan Didier’s tom hits transform into restrained yet emotive thrashing on the high hats. The first climax peaks with the impeccably delivered “Cause it’s a sin to know / that we are powerful” while the second build peters out before transitioning into the second half of perhaps the best two song suite I have ever heard.
At this point it is possible I will simply never be capable of completely wrapping my head around the first several seconds of We, The Vehicles second track, “Tearing Up The Oxygen”. Barely audible guitar accompanied by a heavily EQ’d electronic drumbeat tease the listener until the song erupts with a devastatingly plaintive, distorted guitar melody. The most striking feature of the intro is that the theme of “Calm” is repeated seemingly in reverse and with the absence of each note that lends the opener any sense of optimism or exuberance. During my first listening of We, The Vehicles, I actually did jump up from my seat to determine whether “Calm” had taken a turn of epic proportions or a second track had begun. After careful consideration, the only conclusion I can reach is that the transition between the first two songs is simply one of the greatest achievements in sequencing in the history of the world. This is not to suggest by any means that the remainder of the song pales in comparison to intro. Von Bohlen unleashes arguably the most memorable melody of the album while crafting a lyrically breathtaking love song about a road weary soldier (“So now I chase my bags / someday they’ll take me home / my clothes are worn so thin they accent my bones”) lost without his lover or perhaps alternately, his fans (When your eyes are off me, I’m alone / they could be anywhere / I should be so lucky”).
The third song on We, The Vehicles that no person should die without hearing is the unforgettable “Don’t Say You Don’t”. I could expend considerable effort attempting to dress up the track with flowery imagery, but the simple fact of the matter is that “Don’t Say You Don’t” happens to have one of the most addictively catchy, poignant hooks I can recall. The thrice repeated segment of the song where Davey improbably wails “There’s no night to fall in / where the sirens calling” is the closet to floating I have ever come while listening to music. A large portion of the credit for this should be attributed to Von Bohlen’s ascending guitar line which careens the listener further and further upwards until the rhythm section of Didier and Eric Axelson casts an anchor with taut syncopation while Davey cries out “We are up all ours”. After repeated listenings this should come as little surprise considering the frequency with which von Bohlen’s surprising skillful riffage carries the tunes as Axelson provides the foundation. A true measure of the song’s captivating hook can be found in the intense pain the listener experiences during the track’s conclusion in spite of a graciously gradual outro.
While I can classify only the three aforementioned tracks as frighteningly great, I could not in good conscious endorse an album so thoroughly if the remaining tracks were not admirable in their own right. Unlike von Bohlen’s most recent penmanship, virtually every offering on the album features a mid tempo, borderline danceable beat alongside a strong pop melody. The only possible exception to this rule is the light hearted, harmonica-tinged “We Don’t Think So, We Know”. From start to finish, the record pairs a quiet and dignified confidence with a stoic, workmanlike effort. At times it even seems as though the band made a concerted effort to abandon ornate, textured songwriting in favor of crafting a commendably straightforward rock album. In retrospect, perhaps the results should not seem so astonishing. Maybe von Bohlen – not unlike an athlete viewing old footage of a successful performance – listened to 30° Everywhere one night, decided to go back to basics, and rediscovered his mojo. Nevertheless, I find myself unable to shake the feeling that We, The Vehicles represents one of the most stunning reversals of fortunes in recent indie rock history. For this reason and countless others, I will be beside myself at approximately
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