CD Review: Modest Mouse’s Strangers to Ourselves

Even if you don’t care for Modest Mouse, it would be difficult to argue that they’re not one of the most original-sounding bands of their era. As far as world-famous indie acts go, they’ve had a very non-traditional path; one song (“Float On”) blasted them into the stratosphere of superstardom years after their most critically revered albums. That song has probably bought them all large homes and allowed them to do whatever they want musically, including waiting eight years in between records.

Their latest effort, Strangers to Ourselves, clocks in at just under an hour and, pound-for-pound, is of similar quality to their last two albums, where their sound became more produced and polished compared to their work in the ‘90s. Frontman Isaac Brock’s abrasive vocals still push through the often- sensitive instrumentation. Fans first heard “Lampshades on Fire,” this album’s “Dashboard,” with a catchy chorus and the perfect BPM for WBRU.

“The Ground Walks, With Time In A Box” is a good example of the band retaining the sound they’ve cultivated on their more recent albums. It has a semi-disco dance beat with a jarring, treble-y riff on top of it. But the lyrics provide the kind of vague, caustic imagery that only Isaac Brock can produce, reminiscent of early classics like “Teeth Like God’s Shoeshine”: “The world composes with his shirt tails wrinkled hanging out / Bang us together to see what sort of sounds we make right now / The world plays music, playing skin in teeth inside of the mouth.” It’s cryptic poetry like this that makes Modest Mouse stand out, and it’s what keeps me intrigued even after waiting eight years.

On Strangers, Brock proves he can also make a more specific emotional statement. “Ansel” is about the disappearance of a main character’s brother and eerily captures how you can never know if it’s the last time you’ll ever see someone. “Coyotes,” the album’s musical highlight, is a folky waltz protesting American exceptionalism and the desecration of our land (a reoccurring theme in the band’s back catalog).

There are a few songs that don’t really make an impact whatsoever; “Of Course We Know,” the closing track, chugs along to nowhere and “Pistol (A. Cunanan, Miami, FL. 1996)” is the kind of jumbled, indulgent “Wtf?” track that shouldn’t make it past the demo stage.

Strangers probably won’t be an instant classic, but it’s probably the breath of fresh air their legions of fans have been waiting for. It doesn’t recapture the youthful rawness of the ’90s that so many fans yearn for, but maybe it was their youth that made that possible in the first place. If you enjoy the Modest Mouse of the past decade, you’ll want to give this a try as well. There’s still no one that sounds quite like them.