It’s a phrase with unbelievably negative connotations, meant to demean talent levels of artists and musical tastes of listeners with one fell swoop. A “one-hit wonder” is a fluke, an anomaly, an unworthy artist that slipped through the cracks and managed to snag the spotlight for a month or so. It’s an idea undoubtedly created by the human mind control divisions of major labels, something that can be used as an excuse for dropping a band for purely financial reasons.
Thus, it’s no surprise that critics have been bowled over by Let Go, the positively beautiful new album from NYC power-popsters Nada Surf. Much of the band’s story is by the book: Band signs with major label (Elektra). Band makes a quirky hit single (“Popular”). Band sells some records. While making their second album, band gets dropped for putting art before profit.
This is the point of the tale where Nada Surf doesn’t stay true to form. Instead of just going away, the trio endured a prolonged copyright battle, eventually releasing its second album, The Proximity Effect, on its newly created label, MarDev. Then they hit the studio to make Let Go, freed from label responsibilities and pressures, with nothing to focus on but the songs.
“We couldn’t picture anyone expecting Let Go,” mused lead singer Matthew Caws, “except a couple people on the message board – literally. Three French guys, a guy from New Mexico and two Scots, that’s who was waiting for the record. There was nobody waiting to hear that breakout song. Don’t get me wrong; I love the concept of a hit record. On pretty much every song we do, we’re trying to make a single: it’s just not for this planet. This planet’s singles are generally pretty bad.”
Whatever planet it was that commissioned Nada Surf to write Let Go must have a penchant for precious acoustic pop songs, punchy Cheap Trick rock and lyrics that are both accessible and poignant. It’s an album swimming in harmony, from quiet falsetto melodies to rambunctious, Police-era sing-a-longs. The maturation of Nada Surf as songwriters is shockingly evident, and while the people who weren’t on the band’s message board will find it precocious, to Caws it’s just the result of a natural progression, just like everything else that has to do with growing up.
“It’s strange,” said Caws, “because we seem to have been gone for so long, and it seems like such a surprise, but of course, you can’t get away from yourself. It’s impossible to come back to yourself, ‘cause you’re always there. The evolution from the more consistently hard rock/pop of our earlier stuff to this slightly more schizophrenic mix we’ve got now seems so natural to us. It doesn’t feel like a breakout, ‘cause it’s not.”
While Let Go may not be a breakout album to the band, it’s sure being treated that way. And while it honestly makes sense that a band with an innate talent for writing catchy melodies would evolve over several years into a group of gifted songsmiths, this record comes like a blow upside the head to the casual listener. Why? Because this band wasn’t supposed to make this record. Not now. They’re supposed to have faded into the woodwork, waiting for their token appearance on VH1 a decade from now. Our capitalist culture just can’t fathom the return of the “one-hit wonder.” How has the band dealt with this? Quietly and calmly, because they were never aiming for the Buzz Bin in the first place.
“This has been a surprise for me,” admits Caws. “I thought [the reaction] would be more like The Proximity Effect – a sort of slightly cultishly appreciated record, with a 'gone south' kind of career. I don’t mean 'gone south' in a negative way, either, ‘cause any success we had felt very accidental at the time. So when it went away, it wasn’t like we were in some abject state of failure; there weren’t really any wounds that needed to be healed. It was just kind of a speed bump.”
What Nada Surf sees as a harmless driving obstacle has actually spelled the doom of countless bands before them, and it’s the trio’s indifference to rock stardom that has allowed them to press on, in the process creating an album fueled by melody and meditation. From the graceful opener “Blizzard of ‘77” to the calming, acoustic melancholy of “Paper Boats,” the record’s formula is decidedly uncomplicated: unguardedly pretty pop songs with equally catchy lyrics, produced with the effect of the subtlest of pond ripples. It’s the product of an environment absent of deadlines and bottom line pressures, and full of desires to make something with musical substance.
“I was really enjoying an unambitious home life, working at a record store, just hanging out with friends in the neighborhood, going down to the local bar pretty often, maybe too often,” said Caws, with a chuckle. “It was the first time I lived in a neighborhood where there were bars near my house, literally on the same block that I like to go to – that’s the worst. It’s so easy to go, you’re like ‘well, I’ll go to bed, or maybe I’ll just go and see who’s down at the Thingy Thingy, at the Regal Beagle.’ I basically felt like John Ritter for two years.”
While enjoying the casual life of Jack Tripper, Caws and his bandmates (bassist Daniel Lorca and drummer Ira Elliot) were able to inject genuine feelings of lazy summer days and stress-free strolls through the park in their music. There’s obviously no forced happiness here, just an honest-to-god passion for doing what they do, unfettered by the impending opinion of a guy in New Mexico. A great example of this healthy attitude is the song “Blonde on Blonde,” a simplistic tale about walking down the street listening to Bob Dylan, which includes the telling line “I’ve got no time I wanna lose/To people with something to prove/What can you do but let them walk/And make your way down the block.” The philosophy imposed here is largely why we’re still talking about Nada Surf, and why so many superlatives are being attached to their newest work. It’s just another example of the empty promises of mainstream rock fame, something that may fulfill superficial urges for a while, but ultimately won’t fulfill the artistic ones.
“It’s obviously much better [at an independent label],” said Caws. “The folks at Barsuk, I count them as really good friends. There’s more mutual respect going on; it’s just less crap.” The refreshing absence of crap has produced an abundance of impressive songs, created through a process that’s far from mathematical. It’s allowed Nada Surf to relax, make itself comfortable, and grow up without having to deal with the slave-driving nanny of big business. The result is Let Go, a lovely document of a rock band finding adulthood, forged from a sincere love for making records. But why so quiet? Caws had obviously fielded this question before: “I think it’s because the older you get, the noisier everything is: there are just more noises, both physical and psychological. Maybe that’s part of what life is, just figuring out what you’d like life to be like, and trying to make it happen. And musically, I wanted some peace, somewhere to go.” Any fan of legitimate pop music should thank Nada Surf for creating Let Go, a snug little cubbyhole in which we can hide and forget about the news tickers, traffic jams and bill collectors, just for a second.