(TeenBeat/Simple Machines, 1993)
Unable to get myself worked up about the Grenadine catalog, I’ve been avoiding thinking and writing about this single since Sunday. It’s been a while since I’ve cared so little, pro or con, about a band, and such ambivalence makes reviewing – even lazy, poorly-written reviewing like mine – a real drag. But now, after a nap, some “Best Show on WFMU,” some World Baseball Classic, a series of push-ups, and a heavy sigh, it’s time for me to quit crying and get it over with. Because enough, as they say, is enough. Gotta forge ahead. So here goes. Grenadine. Without passion.
As on previous single “Triology,” Toomey’s vocal showcase – “Don’t Forget the Halo” – is a gentle and sparsely-arranged snooze; this otherwise dull, meandering song has several sections during which Rob Christiansen appears on shuffling drums, and these bits at least generate mild indie-genealogical interest for me in how much they have in common with early American Analog Set, both in terms of the metronomic percussion and the chiming guitars. Non-historians can pass, however… overall, nuttin too splendid to dig here. On the B, “777” is noteworthy as the best of the four – count ’em! – Grenadine tracks I’ve heard, a multi-part, tempo-shifting instrumental that builds to a furious finish thanks to some intense, brush-wielding drumming by group MVP Christiansen. And, again, the guitar sonics impress. So yes, if the band’s two albums are filled with weird, codeine-laced pop-prog like “777” rather than the A-side’s bargain-bin background music, I’ll confess that I can actually imagine a world in which I find myself giving a shit about these kooks. Otherwise, I’ll just go ahead and live out my days in blissful ignorance of the remainder of Grenadine’s output. How should I play this one?