Customer Reviews

Dog Eared

5 star:		(5)
4 star:		(2)
3 star:		(1)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

Michael is probably best known as Tommy in the Broadway version of the Who's Tommy and as Hedwig in Hedwig & the Angry Inch. He's also performed with Pete Townshend and toured as guitarist/vocalist for Bob Mould. But he's also an extremely talented musician and songwriter.

Although the songs on Dog Eared do not allow for the super powerful rock voice that Michael is known for - instead it allows him to show the softer, breathless, intoxicating voice that makes the album much more personal and meaningful.

The theme is heartbreak and the songs range beautifully from catchy upbeat tunes such as "Can't Feel My Soul" and "SPCA" (which he co-wrote with Corin Tucker from Sleater-Kinney) to softer bittersweet ballads including achingly poignant "Snowbound".

You won't be able to get it out of your head or heart.

Chances are, you're looking this album up because you know of Michael Cerveris' other (and much more substantiated) claim to fame. Therefore, there's no need for me to tell you about his theatrical feats, and we can move on to his musical efforts.

What we have here is, essentially, a mature, introspective singer-songwriter album. I would not even remotely call this fresh, because that evokes some young starlet or whippersnapper warbling about their adventures in like, but that's not to say that it's unenjoyable or boring. Also, this album has a decidedly '90s feel to it: anybody who laments that rock music now just isn't what it was in the heyday of when "alternative" was a meaningful description now has something new to absorb.

More about that '90s aesthetic: check out the pretentiously long list of contributing minds (Corin Tucker, Sleater Kinney; Laura Cantrell; Norman Blake, Teenage Fanclub; Ken Stringfellow, Posies; and 539 more). I know that sometimes you can't help who your friends are and that it's really fun to involve them in things you do, but sometimes the cameos get out of control. Luckily, for the sake of Cerveris establishing a unique identity, none of these collaborators overwhelms his individuality, but it makes one stop to think: was all that necessary?

Perhaps it was, because this isn't a bad album. It's just difficult to call it something groundbreaking, and part of that is due to prejudice. Consider this: also of NYC fame and (originally) a self-release, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah was an explosive success, and they were absolute nobodies. I wouldn't argue that they were particularly stunning in terms of their sound, but I would argue their anonymity didn't force any expectations on them... and then their sophomore album came along, and all that changed. Anyway, here you have Cerveris with a completely legitimate album, but because there's so much potential for this to be a knock-out, if it's anything less (which it is, just slightly: note, this is a "growing" record - play it a few times and let it sink in to you), then it slips through the cracks. Which is just what happened to this release.

The best part of this album isn't its lyrics, nor the innovative instrumentation, nor Cerveris' voice - although both of those attributes, I'd use the term "about average; not offensive, but not stellar" - it's his craftsmanship. That, in a way, is actually more admirable. Anyone can write a song, but how many people can back away and see the bigger picture of how everything fits together? This is a pleasant album, and the first half of the album ESPECIALLY flows effortlessly from one track to another, despite the tracks having such distinctive flavors.

And down to specifics, regarding the "distinctive flavors": "Disconnect" is quite lovely, with its appropriate arrangement of melancholy strings, and suitable for any fan of Red House Painters. "Dog Eared" is a poppy plea to be remembered, but holy cow, does it remind me of Third Eye Blind's first album (all indie cred aside, that was a great debut). Possibly the most accessible track "Can't Feel My Soul" fuses wussy ponderings with the sometimes-too-much-to-swallow return to shoegaze. "Another Time" is aptly named, for its throwback feel to britpop-inspired shoegaze minus an overbearing wall-of-sound (think The Verve mixed with Blur); however, it's followed up by an actual delivery of droning, dreamy guitars and hazy-girl vocals in "Golden."

A reviewer over at CDBaby claimed a RIYL of Elliott Smith, but I'd really have to disagree with that here. I don't think an Elliott Smith listener would have the tolerance to wade through some of the frills and ruffles found on this album. Sure, lyrically, perhaps one such fan could be swayed, but I'd really rather push this onto someone who's seeking an underground '90s sludgy pop-rock revival. Or, if you're someone who likes to transcend pigeonholing, I'd say that this is an excellent album to put on to fade away into, save for a few peaks into exuberant feel-good anthems, and then it's valleys all the way until the end.

This interesting debut album may take fans of Michael Cerveris' Broadway work by surprise. It is wonderful to listen to: the very talented Mr. Cerveris collaborates with a number of gifted rock artists, including Norman Blake (Teenage Fanclub), Corin Tucker (Sleater-Kinney), Ken Stringfellow (R.E.M.), and Laura Cantrell. However, those expecting the rich, deep vocals of, say, Sweeney Todd, will be astonished to hear a lighter, higher tenor which melds with, but does not dominate, the instrumental accompaniment. This voice, which at times is downright delicate and whispery--in "Golden," for example--is evocative and flexible, and quite unlike the sound with which Broadway theatre-goers are familiar.

I am too many years removed from the indie rock scene to attempt any kind of analysis of influences in Mr. Cerveris' songwriting. It is enough to say that the ten works, loosely linked by the theme of a romantic break-up, are well-crafted, by turns melancholy, playful, sly, angry, and nostalgic. "SPCA" is vibrant with feeling, an energetic rock beat, and the distinctive vibrato of Corin Tucker. "Dog Eared," another "fast" number, is lively and slyly upbeat. "Golden," one of the most moving songs on this album, offers energetic passages of electric and bass guitars and drums, alternating with Mr. Cerveris' soft, barely-there vocals accompanied by a single accoustic guitar. There are certainly elements of British 70s and 80s rock here and there, but on the whole this is a very personal statement by a remarkably versatile musician.

I highly recommend this...for me, it was both a surprise and a pleasure.

Michael Cerveris never ceases to amaze me with his eclectic talents.
This album is no exception. Michael shoots straight from the heart and it is obvious within this medium as well.

Although I originally missed the heavier voice I am used to hearing, I gradually came to love this other side to it as well.

Whether you are familiar with his other projects or not, this is a great album to feed to your ears. They will thank you.

Brilliant songs from a brilliant man. Michael's music soothes, inspires, and smiles at you through your headphones. Forget Wordsworth; a thousand poets would kill to be able to say something so beautiful as "I loved you like music".

The first song on dog eared, Crosshill, startles us with Michael's brutal honesty as he confesses that he's still "looking for your love." For anyone who can identify with losing an "irreplaceable" paramour, tears will come easily as Michael's soft, yet overwhelming vocals project an abyss of sadness that saturates every emotional crevasse that Michael will transcend on this musical journey.

Crosshill allows Michael to extend his yearning beyond pure physicality. In lyrics which read, "even more than your kiss I think that's what I miss", one senses that Michael fully embraced what his paramour's love transformed him into. It is this transformation of self that Michael lost, misses and wishes for...again and again.

The powerful lyrics of Disconnect highlight the tortuous mental withdrawal one faces when struggling with a lover's abandonment. "I'm letting go of trying to get you back" signifies both the loss of hope and the recognition of a need for personal re-adjustment. This statement is both wounding and healing. "I try to believe I don't want you anymore" symbolizes the cycle of mental anguish we can either choose to revel in or break away from. Michael breaks away in his final statement, "I don't want you anymore."

SPCA speaks volumes in few words. The very title is a brave statement in itself. With words like "call the SPCA `cause I'd rather be stray", one could easily question the inhumane nature of his lover's rejection. By comparing himself to a stray animal facing the possibility of removal from familiar surroundings, Michael paints a picture of unimaginable cruelty that is unloving and unforgiving.

Michael's rendition of Robert McCreedy's Two Seconds evokes an eerie sadness for the listener. Time must stand painfully still as Michael pleads for a mere "two seconds of your love". Late night reminiscing of tender, intimate moments vocally brings Michael to his knees, resulting in an emotionally charged love-plea that hauntingly falls on deaf ears. The soft female vocals add a gentle touch to this sad duet.

Dog Eared is powerful, strong and not quite as questioning as it would first appear to be. Michael is already equipped with the answers. His questioning stance is a protective armor that guarantees the respondent no points in the jostling match of false truths. In the end, only man's best friend answers the call faithfully. Go SuperGibbo!

Embracing a sad dichotomy, Can't Feel My Soul, captures both the life-sustaining & life-depleting forces of a love long lost. Symbolic images of aliveness (rain, sun, morning, and heart), vocalized in painful accuracy, lose their luster as Michael laments "I can't feel my soul with you any longer."

Drinker's Peace, my personal favorite, clearly defines the limits of temporary mind-numbing escapades. The lyrics capture the alienating nature of true aloneness while the music echoes its sentiments. If you listen carefully, you may even be surprised to discover that Gibson offers a cry of support for his hurting master.

"A broken clock can still be right every couple times a day", whispered by Michael in Snowbound, is a painful illustration of what lovers will purposefully endure until the chase ends and they are ultimately "out of time".

Another Time mixes possibility with regret. Does "another time" eventually come along for Michael? Maybe...

The lyrics of Golden signify purity. Michael places life-sustaining value on his "young woman of no confidence". By comparing her to the sun, which she outshines, she is placed in a position of absolute power over man. Knowing Michael's intense passion for music inflates his profession of love for her as he states "I loved you like music." What redeems Michael from this spell is his use of past-tense verbiage. He loved her. He loves her no longer. He has survived despite the removal of his life-force. He has survived because he still has the music and the music still has him, as is evident in his beautiful melody of whispered longing.

Eleven is cold and distant and alarming. Michael's repetitive mantra that "nothing ever kills love", is in fact his bold statement that love never really existed in the first place. To come to a realization such as this is frightening, startling and life-changing...thus the inception of dog eared.

The search is over.

Michael ends his exhaustive love-torn journey with Monkey Tennis, a fitting finale that could signify that all will ultimately prevail for Michael. His "broken record" days have ended and a new Michael arises stronger, wiser, and boldly triumphant. Yes, we definitely know who got the last laugh in this heart-wrenching musical saga...and Michael won't let us forget it.

Venus Prado

It's really a great CD with emotional, beautiful songs.

Cerveris is obviously a great musician and it shows on this cd. What was missing, though, is his great voice. I'm not suggesting he use his "show tune" voice to belt out these songs--it wouldn't be appropriate. But Cerveris goes so far out of his way to hide that booming voice that he sounds like he's whispering, and the effect is detrimental to the music. I find myself yelling at the stereo: "Speak up! I can barely hear you!" The music is inspired, soulful, even beautiful. Why not use that incredible voice to make it perfect?