Spoon - Transference

Remember “The Underdog” from Spoon’s 2007 breakthrough LP Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga? How it seemed like an overt metaphor for their whole career, given their previous struggles with Elektra Records and their forthcoming commercial success? How the song opened up one of indie rock’s most respected acts to a whole new audience? There’s nothing like it on their seventh full-length album, Transference, a curious yet satisfying step back into their own catalog.

Transference is Spoon’s first self-produced album, and frontman Britt Daniel makes it clear early on he’s not trying to recreate the feel of its predecessor. Transference won’t climb nearly as high on the charts as Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga—which reached number 10 on the Billboard 200—either. Spoon has always had a certain everyman swagger, but it’s somewhat muted here. In every respect, this is the most vulnerable, least assertive Spoon we’ve seen since 1998’s A Series of Sneaks. Daniel is grappling with some of life’s more perplexing questions (“Is Love Forever?”) and conjuring an alternate universe full of uncertainty (“The Mystery Zone”), both a far cry from the strutting, Jagger-esque funk of Gimme Fiction’s “I Turn My Camera On.” He only exerts total confidence on “Written in Reverse,” and even then it serves as a harsh rebuke of a former lover.

At the same time, Daniel actualizes a self-described “uglier” sound—abruptly cutting songs off or dropping vocals from the mix. For the most part, Transference contains all the elements one expects of a Spoon album (no band is more frequently labeled consistent). But here, they sound grittier, almost desperate. The pop sensibilities of previous efforts are mostly absent, but Transference is nevertheless as evocative an album as Spoon has ever made.