The name Sparklehorse conjured the image of a scruffy, self-deprecating, cutesy indie rock band of little consequence. Due to that error in judgment I missed out on the West Virginia band’s first two scintillating albums of substance and wonder — 1995’s Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot and 1999’s Good Morning Spider. It’s A Wonderful Life, lighter on catchy hooks, mostly crawls at a snail’s pace, like slowcore pioneers Seam and Low, but with an extra dimension in sound due to a greater variety in instruments and arrangements.
In its quiet, sincere intensity, it is also the best of the three albums. Linkous’ singing is similar to the hushed, pillowy style of Yo La Tengo’s Ira Kaplan. Except that nestled amongst the feathers are rocks, broken sticks, worms and frogs resulting in a rustic beauty exemplified by the likes of The Dirty Three and Tom Waits, who generously offers tools from his musical shed on “Dog Days” — “pitchfork/crowbar/clawhammer/hot tar!” Polly Jean Harvey contributes vocals to “Piano Fire” and “Eyepennies.” But the real stars here are the songs. Even Engineer Dave Fridmann, who’s strong-willed influence usually stamps his unmistakable sound on every client, bends to Linkous’ own unique vision. “Gold Day” is a sunny declaration of good will that is convincingly earnest — “hold skinny wolves at bay/ in silver piles of smiles/may all your days be gold my child.” The gentle “Sea Of Teeth” is perfectly economical poetry — “can you feel the wind of venus on your skin?/can you taste the crush of a sunset’s dying blush?… can you feel the rings of saturn on your finger?/can you taste the ghosts who shed their creaking hosts?/but seas forever boil, trees will turn to soil.” “Apple Bed” is even prettier, but more unsettled, with Linkous wishing he had “a horse’s head/a tiger’s heart/an apple bed.” “King of Nails” adds some well-placed guitar squalls reminiscent of early Flaming Lips.
All is not puppies and kittens and sunshine however. The fantastic imagery often borders on morbid, from “the toothless kiss of skeletons” to “circus people with hairy little hands.” Dirt, clay, hair, nails and teeth are strewn throughout the lyrics, as if Linkous was wallowing in a ditch, or perhaps scratching his way out of his own grave. Just like how fellow songwriter extraordinaire Mr. E. arrived at an upbeat album with the Eels after recent deaths of loved ones, Mark Linkous’ life-affirming outlook is hard earned after his own near-death. Frank Capra eat your heart out.
