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Released: Dec 31, 1969 |
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The Handsome Pants is Eleven Elephants’ very own reviewer extraordinaire Chad Schell-McGaw. His first album, Phantom Telegrams, presents one of those rare instances when a critic performs, ennabling bands that he has thrashed in the past to exact revenge. Of course tracking down the bedroom-produced and self-distributed album will require more effort than Sharks & Seals are likely willing to put forth.
And, frankly, they would be sadly disappointed when they found out that it’s pretty darn good. (This is as good a time as any for the disclaimer: Yes, I have called the leader of The Handsome Pants a friend for almost seven years but I am also notoriously critical, sometimes randomly, sometimes excessively, often obnoxiously, and this fact alone makes me more qualified than any of his other friends to let fly with a review.) Chad can’t sing (which explains why four of the album’s eleven tracks are instrumentals), can only barely play the guitar, and recorded every song through a tiny computer mic on Tuesday nights while his wife was at work, yet, somehow, he has made an alarmingly beautiful album.
Phantom Telegrams’ opening track, “The Losing Touch,” begins as a languid rumination on lost love, but with the lines, “I’ll dance your ghost around the room tonight/until you melt into daylight,” the song becomes something more optimistic and playful, hinting at what follows. “Junelight,” composed of a looped drumbeat, some rudimentary guitar, and some David Gray-ish piano, floats along pleasantly until some sonic alien attack at track’s close reminds us that normal is overrated.
This potential peculiarity of the familiar is one of Phantom Telegrams’ recurring themes. Rarely has an album boasted in its list of instrumentation a large Rubbermaid container, a printer, a “ceramic vase with a microphone wedged inside,” and “the sound of Amanda coming home from work.” Whatever it takes, I guess. This is the work of a tinkerer, to be sure, but the transformation of the everyday reveals itself as a more central concern when another song invites us with “since we have the time to blow/you could put on all my clothes/and see how I look on you.” Similarly, the album’s vast array of samples, from world folk music to Eric B. and Rakim, are always careful to point the original work in new directions.
The album is not without blemishes, but these are mostly due to humility and production limitations. Muffled vocals nearly bury better-than-average lyrics and some songs are mired almost helplessly in fuzz and distortion. But Phantom Telegrams is mostly incredible, not only because it serves as a warning that critics might just know what they are talking about, but because it celebrates the sad and strange and makes it okay to sing along.
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