The Paperboy Always Dies Twice

Morel.

*****

Wall-of-effects guitars, echoing keyboards, and laconically urgent vocals over rock/disco beats that range from the laid-back to the moderately uptempo: not for nothing is one of the remix tracks for Morel's recent album The Death of the Paperboy retitled "Shoegazer Disco." Something about the vocals on this album keeps reminding me of the Soup Dragons’ cover of “I’m Free,” but the instrumentation and arrangements probably owe more to The Stone Roses and others of that ilk … and that’s a compliment. A lot of what was awesome about the early 1990s’ collision of rock and dance music is on display here, suitably refurbished for 2009. It’s extremely tasty stuff.

I think what really grabs me, though, is the sense of something going on in the lyrics that is a bit more than the sum of the parts.

The title track isn’t the only one to muse obliquely on some strange intersection of adolescence, death (of children or of parents), and sexual awakening, as if Morel were in a gayer version of Springsteen’s old territory. There are a lot of “kids” on this album, sometimes in groups …

“kids from nowhere, born to run, disco drugs and lots of fun” (“Still Born”--told you about the Springsteen feel)

… sometimes just one kid, maybe the same one each time …

“put your arms around me, one more time for the kid” (“Flawed”)

… whose loss seems to be somehow transcendentally significant

“the kid of the universe dies to dig a direction” (“The Death of the Paperboy”)

Losses and the risk of loss pile up: an unjustly ignored lover, a paperboy struck by a car on the roadside, a friend’s mother. And perhaps one’s own innocence, or a past that might not have been as great as one remembers it as, but that can’t and shouldn’t be forgotten. There’s also a fair amount of unrequited emotion here:

“No makes me lonely … yes it hurts, but I’m not in love …” (No Makes Me Lonely”)

“There’s danger in here between us, but most is on my side. You walk around in stardust while I hide.” (“My Side”)

At the album’s close, we get a hint that some of this might have something to do with one of those canonical gay teen romances with a straight friend who likes us, but not that way (“that way” not, of course, having been discussed):

“If we drive forever and a minute I won’t mind, you say there’ll be lots of girls and lots of beer, and you don’t even notice as I start to unwind … your leg brushes against my skin, and you don’t even notice my grin.” (“Nova”—more gay-Springsteen feel here: the Nova is a Chevy and the song’s protagonist is driving to “the Cape” with his friend).

For me the centerpiece is “Anymore, Anymore,” a gorgeous ballad whose narrator, singing against a backdrop of gentle piano chords, slowly-accumulating distorted guitars, and the repeating sound of a single drop of water, wishes he could “be the drug that brings you down” for some friend (unnamed, though other boys in their circle are cited by name) and claims that he doesn’t mind “the falling out” though it’s also what “makes me sad” (for that “I’m okay, really I’m okay, no matter how often you ask me I’ll insist I’m okay” feeling). Ultimately, there’s a near-coming-out:

“We could go for a walk and talk about the things that let you down. Like heaven and martinis, and boys who hang around. If I told you my biggest secret, would you promise me you’d stay? It isn’t what you’re thinking; it’s simple, in a way.”

But if this is a coming out, about what is it coming—because whatever you’re thinking, it isn’t that. There’s a sense of more going on than just sexuality here, or at least a sense that sexuality involves much more than sex.

The best thing about all this heavy implication is how completely unschematic it is, how much room there is for interpretation … which is also to say, alas, how much room there is for things to remain painfully unspoken until years later. It’s more in the manner of transcripts from memories that demand their hearing now and then, or the dreams the old experiences sometimes force on us.

If you’re smart, you’ll plunk for the two-disc set, with both Disc 1 (the rockier take on all of this) and Disc-O, the remix album on which the “Death of the Paperboy” track becomes an uptempo rave with a spoken-word break about transformative moments and hopes for the mutuality of memory.

Rocking on the surface, subtly stunning underneath, and highly recommended.