Cass McCombs’ Mangy Love Lacks Bite

Cass McCombs, Mangy Love.

This Friday, August 26, marks the release of Mangy Love by Cass McCombs, a fascinating singer- songwriter based out of California. The album is McCombs’ eighth full-length, produced by Elliot Smith alum Rob Schnapf and Dan Horne, featuring appearances by California guitar wiz-kid and NC-based singer . Known for being a quiet drifter-type, he’s not well-known, but well-worth seeking out. He has a huge body of incredible songs, but none would be considered “that one you’ve probably heard.”

I feel that I should disclose that I’m a huge Cass McCombs fan, but am fairly underwhelmed by this latest release. His albums are usually notable for their refreshing lack of uniformity; he’ll go from folky ballads to punk without any of it sounding forced. The tunes on Mangy, however, blur together into an overly chill swirl of overproduced jamming, and the album lacks a gut punch that breaks everything up.

Mangy would be more at home on Lite Rock 105 than college radio, with its synthy ’80s white bread on “Cry” or relaxed reggae on “Laughter is the Best Medicine.” “Low Flying Bird” is a slow dirge that never seems to end. Five songs clock in at over five minutes, and pretty much all of them seem like they could’ve been slashed by at least a minute. It’s not to say anything sounds particularly bad, but not much stands out as great, either.

The heavy production lends itself well to a few of the tracks. The best of the lot, “Medusa’s Outhouse,” incorporates the best elements of McCombs’ softer side: odd time, pedal steel and whispery, high- pitched vocals. The song is a great example of McCombs’ signature abstruse lyrics, which make the album worth checking out if you’re into that sort of thing:

“Calliope dancing on thin air / Ambrosia cotton candy until we’re free from care / All the rest is up to dreams”

Like many of his lyrics, the abstract imagery doesn’t plainly relate to anything substantial, but is beautiful nonetheless. The video for “Medusa’s Outhouse” takes a NSFW look at a porn set, and seems to focus on the broken dreams of those involved. Of course, that could have nothing to do with anything, but sometimes it’s fun to decipher even when you probably won’t get anywhere.

The album’s opener, “Bum Bum Bum,” is a catchy, bouncy tune with similarly thought-provoking lyrics.

“It ain’t no dream. It’s all too real, how long until this river of blood congeals / bum bum bum / Eulogies pour from the stage but nothing changed, the dog was caged/ bum bum bum.” He pairs images that are violent and vaguely political over “bum bum bum,” a calming musical platitude.

Many songs on McCombs’ other albums definitely tend to be “growers,” so perhaps I just didn’t give these enough time to percolate. While Mangy Love is certainly not prime Cass, there are definitely layers to unlock here, if you want to sit through all the hazy jams. For a better primer, seek out the treasure trove that is his other seven albums.