In the wee hours of December 31st, 2004, after nearly four hours of brazen rock n’ roll debauchery at Chicago’s Metro, the lights went out for good on longtime indie staple Guided By Voices. Bandleader Robert Pollard, believing that two decades was long enough for his group to have graced the rock world, had decided to break up the band and continue on as a solo artist. For a dedicated following of GBV disciples, the band’s demise came as a shock, and they struggled to deal with the loss of an extended family of fellow fans. Sadly, the club was closed.
That is the simplified version of the story, but as with any saga of this scale, the details are much more complex. For the uninitiated, a highly abridged history of GBV goes something like this: starting in the early 1980’s, Pollard and a rotating cast of Dayton, Ohio musicians slugged away in the local bar scene, occasionally cut four-track recordings in Pollard’s basement, and generally struggled to keep their rock dream alive. After some modest success, their situation changed dramatically with the 1994 release of Bee Thousand, a lo-fi magnum opus of magnetic hooks and melodies that propelled them to the forefront of the then-mopey rock scene. Pollard capitalized on this success with follow-up efforts that departed from the lo-fi sound that made him famous, and periodically repopulated the band with fresh musicians after the original lineup parted ways. In addition, he released countless singles, EPs, side projects, and box sets of obscure cuts and silly rants, some under the guise of GBV and others under his own name. The sheer volume of output alienated many critics and casual fans, while simultaneously bolstering a growing underground of devotees that snatched up each release for discussion ad nauseum on sprouting online message boards and fan pages.
Ironically, the vigor with which fans obsessed over GBV’s music was itself a factor in Pollard’s decision to end the band. “It had got where there were expectations of the name itself, Guided by Voices, which created in their minds what a Guided by Voices record was supposed to be, and in step with that I started second-guessing myself,� says Pollard. “So, I started going through each successive album like 'how is this going to compare in the minds of people who dig Guided by Voices?'� The songwriting process had become formulaic, and Pollard felt confined by the bands’ past success, particularly working in the infinite shadow of Bee Thousand. However, this problem was specific to GBV; as a solo artist, Pollard was freed from the pressure to recreate the past.
The other significant factor in the decision to go solo was Pollard’s desire to age gracefully. Just as the cast of That 70’s Show must eventually accept that they are can no longer pass as teenagers, Pollard acknowledges that being a 48-year-old leader of a rock band is not easy to pull off while maintain any dignity. “You know, you're taking photos as a rock band, and there's the whole conceptual part of it, the visual part of it, which is why I wanted to be in a rock band to begin with, just because you look good,� says Pollard. “You got long hair and boots on and shit. But I don't have long curly hair anymore, I've got grey short hair, and I'm just old. I don't want to be the Moody Blues.� As a solo artist, the grey hair can be a symbol of experience and wisdom, rather than a banner flagging the geezer who still thinks he can rock.
The real misunderstanding about the breakup of GBV is that, in a way, the band really isn’t broken up at all. Through every incarnation, Pollard has been at the center of the music, and he doesn’t feel that fans should notice any difference now that he is a soloist. “I feel like Guided by Voices, although I had a lot of great people in the band, it still was kind of my vision, you know, it was my baby, and to me it's no different right now,� says Pollard. “Like I said, I had maybe 7 or 8 different lineups. So it's the same thing, it's just the name is changed - it's no longer Guided by Voices, its Robert Pollard.�
Despite the myriad of reasons for ending GBV, the so-called breakup may never have happened were it not for the current album, From a Compound Eye. Shortly after recording what became GBV’s final studio album, Pollard began combing through crates of unmarked cassette tapes that contained the remnants of past songwriting sessions dating back to the 1970’s. He originally planned to put together a limited-edition solo project as part of his Fading Captain series, but Pollard discovered that the old songs he was recording with producer Todd Tobias were actually quite good, and felt that they deserved greater exposure than a side project would allow.
Of course, that story gives this album a “best of whatever wasn’t good enough to make my other albums� vibe, but Pollard insists that perceptions can change dramatically over time. “I think it's a little like cheese, that things get better as they age,� says Pollard. You listen to a song you may not have liked 20 years ago and you go 'yeah, that's 20 years ago - now I like that song.’� Pollard’s change in taste resurrected 15 songs from aural obscurity, and combined with 11 new songs to make up the 70-plus minute record.
The title of From a Compound Eye alludes to the many different styles encompassed by this collection of songs. Pollard refers to the album as having all four P’s of rock (pop, psych, prog, and punk), and with such diversity among its songs, it is difficult to describe in a concise sound bite or comparison to another record. Rather, the album is a showcase of Pollard’s versatility as a songwriter; clearly he is equally comfortable working in any of these genres. There are certainly some very catchy pop songs, like “Dancing Girls and Dancing Men,� a perfect little pop ditty that would sound right at home on a best of GBV disc. And yet the other end of the spectrum is equally represented, as on “The Numbered Head,� a wide-open prog/psych jamfest that could have graced the stage at Woodstock.
What is most striking about the album, given Pollard’s demonstrated love of silliness in previous solo ventures, is the serious tone that is carried throughout. On “Gold,� written in the early 90’s just around the time GBV hit the limelight, Pollard explores his desire to make it big while acknowledging the “Godless terrain� that comes with success. The final track, “Recovering,� stems from the other end of his career with GBV, when he had to come to terms with his own decision to end the band. This open self-reflection gives much of the album a very personal tone.
Of course, we still receive a healthy dose of Pollard’s lighter side, as on the self-parodying “50-year-old baby,� a portrait of himself and his drinking buddies as they grow old without growing up. (“I'm 48, and most of the guys I hang out with in the Monument Club, they're like 50 now. They're all a bunch of big babies.�) Pollard’s penchant for silly song titles also sneaks in on the surprisingly Donovan-esque “Fresh threats salad shooters and zip guns.� However, these light moments are in the minority.
As one might expect from a record that covers this much territory, not every song is going to fall into a given listener’s sweet spot. Pollard acknowledges this, but stands by the album as his proudest achievement to date. “I think this album, and I don't like to praise my own shit, but I think it's the best thing I've ever done,� says Pollard. “I really do. And you hear a lot of people say shit like that, like 'wow, this is the best album we've done! Really! Believe me!' There'll be different opinions, but to me it's better than Bee Thousand. It's more versatile, there's more diversity on it.�
Breaking up the band that has been your bread and butter for two decades is certainly a big risk, but Pollard has always been a risk-taker. In fact, he argues that breaking the rules from time to time is a necessity if you ever hope to achieve greatness. “I think it's better to stir up action - they either love it, or they hate it,� says Pollard. “It's better to be like that. It's like all these other bands, they're just kind of there, you know? They're never great, and they're never terrible.� (He’s talking to you, Coldplay). By finally stepping out from under the shadow of GBV, Pollard now has the opportunity to be great and/or terrible on his own terms.
