Any way you slice it Mat Brooke’s had some bum breaks when it comes to timing in his music career. The group he previously co-fronted, Carissa’s Wierd, was egregiously ignored outside the Pacific Northwest only to reach beloved cult status a few years after its 2003 dissolution. The group he joined after that, Band Of Horses, got mega-huge moments after he left them on somewhat sour terms. With his new band, country rock quintet Grand Archives, Brooke appears to have broken the bad timing curse, securing a plumb opening spot for Modest Mouse’s national tour in the spring of 2007 mere months after forming the group. So, with the stars finally aligned in his favor has Brooke made the most of his shot on Grand Archives’ Sub Pop debut? You bet your ass.

Listen to "Torn Blue Foam Couch" from The Grand Archives

Consciously distancing himself from the dark tone that typified his earlier work, The Grand Archives finds Brooke casting himself in the unlikely role of Mr. Sunshine, his feathery tenor set atop a bevy of shiny brass and lightly bouncy keys. The reference points for this sort of West Coast pop are readily identifiable, albeit far from hip, and the band makes no bones about citing such sunny pop dinosaurs as the Mamas and the Papas and The Turtles as points of inspiration in their press biography (I would throw lite-country-rockers America in there as well). It’s a sound that aims to be simultaneously short and sweet (hence the folksy whistling and amiable harmonica blowing on “Miniature Birds”) and sweepingly majestic (the kick in to the chorus on opener “Torn Blue Foam Couch” is clearly indebted to Brooke’s time as an anthemic guitar slinger in BOH). I’ll readily admit to being a sucker for this sort of sumptuously-layered, country-tinged popcraft and have little doubt that the high points of this album (“Miniature Birds,” “A Setting Sun,” “Louis Riel”) will be in heavy rotation on my iPod for weeks to come.

Unfortunately, however, Brooke’s rather nondescript voice doesn’t quite live up to the material, it almost sounds as if its consciously pushed down in the mix or subject to triple-layered harmonies to hide its lack of distinctive character. This isn’t a deal breaker on such an enticing album, but when the tempos slow and the arrangements are scaled back, as on the ploddingly forgettable but nevertheless pleasant-in-the-moment ballad “Swan Matches,” the limits of Brooke as a bona fide front man are readily apparent. The lyrics suffer from a similar facelessness, although occasionally coming through with a striking line (“You can’t conquer a world that’s always been good to you, but let’s go out and try anyway.”) or a unique set-up (“George Kaminski” is written from the perspective of a real-life convict who spent his years in prison slowly collecting four-leafed clovers as a way to amend his bum luck).  

All in all, an intriguing snapshot of a band that still seems to be finding its way, albeit under a significant spotlight.

[Editors Note: For lower-profile bands trying their hand at the same sort of material I heartily reccomend the Silver Seas and Maplewood .]