Jayhawks – Sound of Lies

The situation is eerily similar, when you think about it. Both bands formed in the mid-’80s in the Midwest and had co-leaders who generally wrote separately yet shared songwriting credits on all their material. Both drew caringly from the deep well of country music’s legacy, though their day-to-day existences were firmly rooted in the American indie-rock underground. Both put out four records before one of the co-leaders split, with the rest of the band rallying behind the one who remained.

We’re talking about Uncle Tupelo and the Jayhawks, and what’s happening with the latter band right now is a near carbon-copy of what the former went through a couple years ago. About the only significant difference is that the Jayhawks decided to keep the same band name after the departure of founder Mark Olson; but we’ll deal with that later.

First, the music. Sound Of Lies marks the Jayhawks’ full-fledged flight from their country music ties — which is precisely what was expected, given that recent albums found Olson staying closer to the band’s low-key, tradition-grounded past (like Tupelo’s Jay Farrar) while Louris was reaching for broader, more grandiose horizons (like Tupelo’s Jeff Tweedy). Just as Wilco’s Being There was Tweedy’s redirection of his own identity toward the rock ‘n’ roll that was closest to his soul, Sound Of Lies is Gary Louris’ assertion that his heart ultimately bleeds pop.

But Louris’ departure is even more dramatically apparent. Whereas Tweedy still peppered Being There with a few country-folk ditties, Sound Of Lies leaves nary a trace of rootsy residue in its wake. The keyboards of Karen Grotberg are given a much more prominent role: Piano the first thing you hear as “The Man Who Loved Life” opens the album, and a gentle blend of piano and organ accompanies Louris’ voice and acoustic guitar as the tender title track closes it out. All four band members — Louris, Grotberg, bassist Marc Perlman and drummer Tim O’Reagan — contribute vocals and/or backing vocals (as does pop svengali Matthew Sweet). The occasional contributions of the Geraldine Fibbers’ Jessy Green on violin are most certainly along classical bloodlines, rather than hoedowns sawed forth from the instrument’s country cousin, the fiddle.

And then there are the songs — eight written by Louris, two co-written by Louris and Perlman, and one penned by O’Reagan. It was clear from such stunningly brilliant gems as “Settled Down Like Rain” on 1992’s Hollywood Town Hall and “I’d Run Away” on 1994’s Tomorrow The Green Grass that Louris had a rare gift for compelling melodies and chord progression. What lay untested was whether he could crank out more than a couple such tunes an album.

Sound Of Lies answers that question with an emphatic yes. “The Man Who Loved Life” is an epic opening salvo, with Grotberg’s majestic piano intro giving way to Louris’ luring couplet “Won’t you take my hand, won’t you be my friend/Take my advice, go away,” the waves presently breaking into a cascading crescendo of meshing guitar and violin strings, richly layered with soaring harmony vocals, anchored by a driving rhythm section. “Think About It” is basically an extension of the first track, the second movement of a sonic suite that defines the band’s lofty ambitions from the outset.

Other songs reflect different colors of Louris’ pop prism. “It’s Up To You” and “Haywire” have an easygoing, folk-rock feel; “Poor Little Fish” bounces along amidst swirls of sweetly psychedelic production; “Big Star” is an anthemic, cheerful rocker that recalls the group’s cover of Grand Funk’s “Bad Time” from Tomorrow The Green Grass. The rhythmic urgency of “Dying On The Vine” shows the recent pop experiments of Joe Henry, who the Jayhawks once guided toward a more country direction, in turn influencing his former backing band’s work. And it’s nearly impossible to discuss the breathtaking twists and turns of “Sixteen Down” without mentioning the Electric Light Orchestra — although I swear I mean that as a compliment.

All of which ultimately reinvents the Jayhawks as a completely new band — which begs a return to the issue of the group’s name. Shortly after Olson’s departure, Louris affirmed that while he and the other Jayhawks would forge ahead without Olson, they would also be changing the group’s name (just as Tweedy and the remaining Tupeloers had rechristened themselves as Wilco). “That’s probably not the smartest business move,” Louris told Minneapolis Star-Tribune writer Jon Bream in January 1996. “But we owe it to our fans and to Mark to move on.”

The reversal of that decision smacks of a record label, manager, lawyer, perhaps the band members themselves, trying to justify a mistake. Retaining the name may indeed help to avoid confusion, and there are those who would argue that what the band is called really doesn’t matter. Granted, it’s not the most important thing in the world. But it does matter.

All reasons of morals, business and politics inside, it matters most because of the music. Whereas previous Jayhawks records represented the distinctly recognizable meld of the visions of Olson and Louris, Sound Of Lies is something remarkably, refreshingly different. These Jayhawks would still smell as sweet, by any other name.