Customer Reviews

Nada Surf: The Proximity Effect

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By now the Nada Surf story is well-known: band scores a semi-hit in the twilight of the Alt Rock gold rush. Band records the ever-crucial second album, only to be asked "where's the hit?" by the label, who refuse to release/promote it. Band retreats to the practice room and the drawing board, after much hand-wringing and disappointment, to eventually emerge from adversity and obscurity as a leaner, stronger, more confident glistening-pop-making machine. Those looking for something in the vein of their sarcastic nerd-rock anthem "Popular" were likely confused by this dense thicket of angsty rock. While the band was to truly find its way on their subsequent albums, after a prolonged period of hibernation with its future very much in doubt, the direction they would take is hinted at on songs like "Amateur" ("You said I should get professional help/it always makes me cry"), the bouncy "Bad Best Friend," the ruminative "Bacardi" and the bracing opener "Hyperspace," all of which rank with their best work. The true highlight is "80 Windows" ("The moon is closer to the sun/than I am to anyone"), a paean to voyeurism and loneliness which reflects the album's generally dark vibe, which shows the band beginning to find their new direction: distinctive melodies with ruminative lyrics that reflect more epiphanies than your average power-pop combo can usually muster. Sure, there are some mis-steps (like the ham-handed anti-date-rape screed "Mother's Day") and half the album is fairly indistinct alt-rock-by-numbers but the good songs are very good indeed, and make this worth a listen.

This album stands as a testament to what clever amateurs, unfettered by traditional notions of song structure, popularity, or musicianship can do with a studio. This debut disc is far ahead of its time and has the uncanny ability to challenge one's preconceptions about what music can be - challenge being the key word here.

The lyrics are arch, adroit, and oblique. The songs' propulsively minimal skeletons support dense, compelling, and odd sonic textures that range from the airily ironic pop of "Kicked In The Horse..." to the dessicated ululations of "The Grand Substitution".

The work is not without its blemishes. One may question a few of the V's more self-indulgent compositional choices, like noisy drones or cacaphonous synth blurts that occasionally occlude more important elements such as with the lyric in the last verse of "Open Casket (For Tiny)". But the warts never overshadow the stunning richness and creativity of the songs.

What strikes me most about this debut is how, despite its well-studied strangeness, it's great fun to listen to. Robert Jazz's enthusiasm, like that of a 3-year-old with his first box of 64 colored crayons, is infectious, and we cannot help but be entranced, even if his skies are salmon and he frequently colors outside the lines.