Stephen Malkmus Face The Truth

You know those geeky music-heads back in the mid-90s who used to wear obscure band t-shirts and backpacks to concerts and be obsessed with said bands and all the rare, unreleased, Japanese-imported B-side recordings produced by said bands? Well, I was one of them. Which means, practically by definition, that I was a Pavement fan.

And when I say Pavement fan, I'm really talking about Stephen Malkmus, the band's lanky, laid-back and strangely enigmatic frontman.

Of course I was sad when Pavement broke up, we all were, dammit. Heck, it was the end of an era. But there was such a sense of inevitability about it. And for the legions of fans, the bittersweet pain was tempered somewhat with the release of Malkmus' first, eponymous solo release in 2000.

That album, recorded with his new band the Jicks, received mixed reviews, although I thought it was quite excellent. But it's a fact of life, I guess, that lead singers who go solo have to work twice as hard to prove themselves. Malkmus was inevitably accused of selling out, becoming boring. His solo work seemed to lack the spontaneity and shambolic wit of the Pavement era. It was Malkmus mouthing off, being a rebel, doing his own thang. People didn't like it.

His second album with the Jicks, Pig Lib, had its moments, but didn't fare much better. Overall, it seemed world-weary, lackadaisical. If he wasn't enjoying himself, how could anyone else?

However, Malkmus, like his Pavement fans of yesteryear, had to grow up some time. Grow up and move on, discover new things, quit clinging on to the past and look forward.

And it's just as well, because the big SM is back in business. Gosh, he's positively brisk: from the first track, Face the Truth moves at a rolling, cracking pace, spurred on by his trademark chaotic riffs and goofy lyrics. The Jicks are in fine form, too, although as always, they're far more in the background than the rest of Pavement ever were.

It's as though Malkmus has made a conscious effort to distil everything that has made him unique and quaint when it comes to songwriting and musicianship. He's also messing around a fair bit more with electronica, something that Pavement never dreamed of. Another sign of maturity, and it works damn well, slotting seamlessly into the sonic layers of upbeat guitars and ambling ballads.

Face the Truth is probably the most eclectic of all Malkmus's work. There are elements of every Pavement album in amongst the tracks, with familiar noodly guitar intros, shouty, jaunty refrains and languid deadpan-rap segments.

And moments of heart-stopping clarity, such as Freeze the Saints, or the album's closing track, Malediction. It's when you realise that Stephen Malkmus is a man who has loved, lost, travelled and thought long and hard about things. Just like me and all his other old fans.

But one thing I've always seen in Stephen Malkmus is that he's a master of illusion. He seems pretentious and sincere, playful and sombre, immature and wise, freewheeling and disciplined all at once. And he'll suck you in on false pretences. At first listen, his weird-ass poetry might seem like gibberish. The second time around, it seems faintly banal. But finally, third time around, you'll get it.

There's no denying he's still with us, breezy and eccentric as always. He's still a lyrical genius, a guitar virtuoso, there's still danger and sadness and hilarity in his fake-bad singing, his goofy-serious lyrics. The whole thing just gambols along, as amiable as can be.

Stephen Malkmus bears the world no grudges, is what I'm trying to say. It's hard to imagine even the most stoic of his critics disliking this album.