The New Classics #33: The Moon & Antarctica, Modest Mouse

Title: The Moon & Antarctica
Artist: Modest Mouse
Year: 2000
Label: Epic

The year was 2004. It was spring. And there was a weird song on the radio. This is how I remember my first introduction to Modest Mouse, as that year's unexpected hit "Float On" drifted through the air. It was a cheerful and optimistic slice of guitar-pop, perfectly suited to the very beginning of the sunny months and vacations. However, like most people at the time, I was completely unaware of Modest Mouse's history. I didn't know that this cute song was the result of a decade-long career, forged by frenetic guitars and acerbic lyrics. I didn't know that beyond the inescapable bison band shirts was an intense, occasionally vicious band from nearby Issaquah, WA. I didn't know anything about The Moon & Antarctica, their third album and already one of the most celebrated releases of the time.

The Moon & Antarctica was actually Modest Mouse's first major label release, but you wouldn't know that by listening to it. Sure, four years later, their sound would be drowned in sugar for "Float On," but The Moon & Antarctica matches its angular, independent-label predecessors blow for blow. For every gentle, plucked tune (see: "3rd Planet"), there's something like "A Different City," with its frantic, distorted guitars and frontman Issac Brock's yelping vocals. The classic Modest Mouse sound can be hard to describe, combining elements of treble-heavy indie rock with country twang and some genuine, psychedelic mindfuckery. The Moon & Antarctica features its fair share of backward guitars, disembodied voices and conflicting overdubs. Songs will change tone without warning, or will give way to strange, half-baked sing-a-longs when they've run their course. Violins pop up on six songs. This is definitely not a stable album.

Brock's lyrics reflect that instability, particularly during the trio of songs at the album's center, "The Cold Part," "Alone Down There" and "The Stars Are Projectors." These songs are fraught with existential dread, asking those big questions about why we're here, where we go when we die and why everything sucks so much. Yet, rather than wallowing in indulgent misery, Brock's phrasing tackles these issues in unexpected and often frighteningly creative ways. "The Cold Part" conjures up a vision of the world as "bone bleached" and "salt soaked," before Brock declares "I've stepped down as the president of Antarctica, can't blame me." This bleak view returns in "The Stars Are Projectors," as Brock's voice, multitracked and layered to the point of psychosis, says "in the last second of life, they'll show you how, how they run this show." Water is a recurring image, especially in relation to blood (from "3rd Planet:" "another has been found, another ocean on the planet, given that our blood is just like the Atlantic"). Humanity in The Moon & Antarctica is weak and fragile, "made of nothing but water and shit," dissatisfied with their lives no matter how good things get.

Amazingly, despite all these desperate and hopeless themes, the album is remarkably beautiful. When the guitars aren't being kicked into schizophrenic overdrive, they're actually quite pretty, such as on the chiming "Dark Center Of The Universe." The funky "Tiny Cities Made Of Ashes" is addictive, while the short "Wild Pack Of Family Dogs" crams more weighted symbolism (and accordion!) into one-and-a-half minutes than anyone thought possible. A song like "Paper Thin Walls" may feature deeply paranoid lyrics, but it still features a compelling guitar hook and hummable melody. Every time The Moon & Antarctica threatens to complete freeze in the darkness, one of these brighter tunes comes along to thaw things out. In these songs, you can finally begin to see the same band that would go on to record "Float On." No one could have predicted that a band this difficult and angular would warp into one of indie-rock's first major crossover artists of the 2000s, yet it still happened. The Moon & Antarctica is a fascinating listen for anyone reeled into Modest Mouse's orbit by their unexpected popularity, but its also a powerful benchmark in the evolution of indie rock. Ambitious, dense and often quite serious, The Moon & Antarctica ranks as some of the finest art-rock on this decade or any other.

Next up on The New Classics: Sea Change, Beck