Sebadoh a blast of nostalgia and little more

It was two weeks ago today that I saw a show by the reunited Sebadoh. I really enjoyed the show and fully expected to post something the next day. Alas, two weeks later, I realize the show was kind of a singular moment. I expected it to fuel a renewed interest in the band, that I would be listening to their CDs non-stop for the foreseeable future.

Instead, that was really all I needed. What happened?

At one time I loved Sebadoh. Top five band, easily. I have all of the studio albums, the vinyl singles, the Sentridoh side project, Folk Implosion, the Shrimper tapes… even the Belt Buckle single (before I knew to be excited because it featured Eric Matthews from Cardinal). One thing you’ll

notice is that my love of Sebadoh came down heavily on the side of Lou Barlow. I could take or leave (and usually leave) Eric Gaffney’s noisier, more out-there contributions, and wasn’t sad to see him depart the band before Bakesale.

That album is the band’s high water mark, an album I’ve listened to hundreds of times. It did everything a Sebadoh album should, with a mix of loud, off-kilter rock and quiet, contemplative weepers. No Gaffney, and in fact, Jason Loewenstein, the third leg of the stool, ramped up his game to be Barlow’s near-equal in the songwriting department.

But that was followed by Harmacy, a misguided stab at more mainstream success (to these ears anyway), that, while it included some Sebadoh classics from both Barlow and Loewenstein (“On Fire,” “Ocean” and “Prince-S” among them), also had it’s share of filler. By the time of the band’s self-titled swan song, I had largely left it behind.

Looking back, I can point to the decreasing quality of the output, and the decreasing quantity, for that matter. The band seemed to know it was near the end. After the frenetic 90s, the aughts were largely devoid of product. A Loewenstein solo album, two Barlow solo albums and a couple of EPs, and that was it. And none of it lived up to Sebadoh at its best.

Fair enough. But when the band reunited, and pledged a set list that leaned heavily on its best work (Bakesale and Harmacy), I was in. The show started off like they were playing my dream set: “Skull,” “Rebound,” “Ocean” and “Magnet’s Coil” all hit hard and had me fully engaged. Then came Loewenstein’s part of the set. I found I was more excited to hear his songs, because they were the ones that had aged best. Barlow’s sugary confections didn’t pack the same punch as these disjointed excursions. But Loewenstein seemed hell-bent on pounding any subtlety out of the songs, shouting his way through the hooks and playing them at breakneck speed in pummeling fashion.
What I was left with was a last hurrah for Barlow’s songs, my reactions based more on nostalgia than anything else, and a missed opportunity for Loewnstein’s. Barlow’s songs simply haven’t aged well for me. Kudos to him for finding dozens of ways to sing about heartache, but those are largely teen-age emotions that I left behind decades ago. I’m more likely to dig up Loewnstein’s gems, these diamonds in the fluff just begging for their own playlist.

I’ll still play Sebadoh from time to time — “Magnet’s Coil” and “Rebound” are near-required playlist inclusions — but the fire I expected to be rekindled will instead remain a pile of low-burning embers.