Of Spencer Krug’s projects, Sunset Rubdown occupies a
middle-ground between the more straightforward – and more
boring – Wolf Parade and the more experimental Swan Lake.
And like all middle-grounds between the two poles of
“accessible” and “experimental” (as if the two truly precluded
each other), Sunset Rubdown often creates music more
adept than either side of the hypostasized dichotomy. This
isn’t supposed to place Krug’s projects into a hierarchy; we’ll
let others play that game. What can be said though is that as
a compromise between the antipodean extremes,
Dragonslayer allows the weird to be strange and, at the same
time, unforeign. That is, without neutering the weird, Krug
makes it something there for us; if not overtly understandable,
something that can be acquired.
It’s difficult to really use the term “experimental” anyway. Like
“postmodern,” it has all but lost any kind of unitary meaning.
As a modifier though, it sometimes carries with it an
insecurity, like “oh, sure, experimental for indie rock.” When
we act this way, bands like Sunset Rubdown sometimes get
lost in the shuffle (though Krug’s presence may preclude that
happening in this case). This is because they are not
immediately catchy, nor super-outre, and therefore neither
outright popular nor critically interesting. However, it is this
middle-ground that does the work neither pole can do on its
own.
While genres are incredibly varied, we can make a few
general assumptions for the sake of the above simplified
sketch (as long as we keep in mind that this is simplified).
Stereotyped pop and experimental music have their
strengths, the former being perhaps emotionally fulfilling and
fun, the latter perhaps conceptually complicated or
technically difficult. These are broad strokes, and in most
cases both ends empty out into average stuff. It’s just that the
pedigree of the latter lends its mediocrity an air of aloofness.
That middle ground, though, when done right is a daywalker:
all of the strengths, none of the weaknesses.
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