Sometimes it pays to be a control freak. As the Long Winters’ sole constant (except for bass player Eric Corson), vocalist/songwriter/producer/espresso drinker John Roderick has already burned through twelve musicians in the bands’ five year existence. At best, this suggests a man who is difficult to work with, and at worst someone who doesn’t know what he wants. The latter is a tempting tag to hang on Roderick’s ear – he did, after all, have difficulty holding down a job for much of his twenties – but it is not true. Indecision was just Roderick’s way of ingesting the complexities of life, and as many slackers will attest, years of indecision can make for a compelling story.

"Story," it just so happens, is the key word; every song on the Long Winters third album, Putting the Days to Bed, has one to tell. Although Roderick plays down the significance of plot in favor of psychology, songs like “Hindsight” and “Honest” show a man upgrading from sketches to short films. “Hindsight” is a particularly brutal indictment of an ex-lover bristling with language that would make Dylan proud: “Are you still training for the big race/By hoping the runners will die?” Elsewhere, Roderick lets the listener fill in the blanks. “Pushover,” an exhuberant plea for attention from a pretty girl, says a lot with very little by packing huge doses of yearning into simple phrases like, “If I would I could.”

Okay, but what about the music? I’d love to tell you, but I missed it. Roderick’s words and ideas are so big that they completely engulf the backdrop. Not that it’s a bad thing; powerful personalities tend to do that. In “Teaspoon,” Roderick sings, “I know I wasn’t made to play on a team.” Should the listener interpret this as being merely defeatist, or just the sound of an older man (Roderick is in his late ‘30s) finally coming to terms with himself? I’d guess the latter, but don’t take my word for it. I can be indecisive too. But for now, I don’t hear a weak moment on this incredible, inspiring album.

Mark Griffey
July 26, 2006