Guided by Voices...What?

The Band and Their Misguided Cult

As expected, Robert Pollard stumbled onto the stage at “Riot Fest.” It was 5:00 on a summer afternoon, in the middle of a field somewhere near Byers, Colorado. Pollard chugged some tequila straight from the bottle and began his routine – alternately dropkicking the air, swinging his microphone dangerously by the cord, and… more drinking. His lead guitarist Mitch Mitchell was the perfect complement to Pollard’s cartoonish debauchery. At the beginning of the one-hour show, he put two packs of Marlboro reds on top of his Marshall amp. At the end of the show, both packs were empty and lying on the stage floor. This wasn’t a Guided by Voices concert. It was a play.

I came away disenchanted with the band. It’s common for musicians to put on a don’t-give-a-shit air. But these people seem completely sincere - they actually don’t give a shit.

Not even about their own music. Maybe that’s why the band releases three or four albums in a slow year. Pollard seems to slap the first thing that comes across his intoxicated mind on a tape recorder. Once he has a large enough collection he gives it some marvelously meaningless title (The Bears for Lunch, Let’s Go Eat The Factory) and calls it an album.

My first GbV album was Bee Thousand. It’s amazing, and everyone knows it. It’s on just about everyone’s “top indie albums” list. But are we getting played? I think we might be. Pollard and his cohorts have mastered the sexy appeal of angry, affected lo-fi music and accrued a cult following among fans and critics alike.

Just look at this from Eric Carr’s Pitchfork review of Relaxation of the Asshole.

“If more drunks would learn from Robert Pollard, simply accept his teachings, alcoholism wouldn't be treated-- it would be celebrated. An alcoholic risks losing his family and his job, systematically alienating all who would ever respect or care for him; Robert Pollard is loved, adored, and urine-free. Surely this career arc is the very embodiment boozing success, a seminal text on how to drink professionally for more than a decade.

The secret directions to the Bizarro dimension Pollard inhabits, however, have until now been well-concealed, only unearthed from the occasional between-song words of wisdom doled out at GBV gigs, and impossible to accurately assemble into a true life-plan. With the tearful passing of GBV's live act, it seemed as though the teachings would be lost forever, but listen up, drunky, because there's hope: Relaxation of the Asshole, like the Rosetta Stone of Inebriation, is the first step towards making sense of the the Man, the Wisdom, and the ins and outs of a healthy career in alcoholism.”

A drunken pig with a microphone is still a drunken pig, people. I’m all for the tortured artist. But isn’t Robert Pollard just a tortured douchebag? and I’m all for sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. But drunken rock is an art. And I’ve seen it done much better than GbV. Take The Replacements.

I’m sure Guided by Voices was cool at some point. “I Am a Scientist” was written on a guitar missing a string - classic cool. But whatever cool the band once had has been replaced by silly. And these men aren’t the rebels their followers want them to be. They are walking, dropkicking, mic-swinging advertisements for Marlboro, Patrón, and human sickness.

Am I missing something here? Tell me I’m wrong. I would love to love GbV again.