onventional DIY wisdom dictates that indie-rock ethics and corporate profit-making tactics are essentially irreconcilable, the former being based on a zealous love for "good" music and the latter on selling power, which in the music business inexorably translates into mass appeal. Why certain indie fans continue to cling stubbornly to this patent falsehood is completely beyond me, especially since the Big Five (or are we down to four now?) have been releasing underground-credible classics regularly since Nevermind. Recent examples include the phenomenal new Trail of Dead record on Interscope (who, let's not forget, also released currently out-of-print classics by Helmet, Drive Like Jehu and the Dismemberment Plan), as well as gems by former subterraneans the Flaming Lips (Warner), Spiritualized (Arista), and of course Guided By Voices (TVT). Isolation Drills, while not my personal favorite in Pollard's seemingly bottomless oeuvre, seemed to satisfy fans who always wanted to hear his formidable pop construction skills streamlined by a passable studio budget. Subtract the sheen and you get material that would've worked as b-sides for Bee Thousand or Mag Earwhig!


The evidence listed above should be sufficient to prove my contention that worthwhile music can and does come from major labels, in spite of their occasionally reprehensible business practices. What people sometimes forget is that small labels can be just as duplicitous and profit-minded as their larger competitors, if not worse. When Jello Biafra, for example, objected to the use of "Holiday in Cambodia" in a Dockers ad, the other Dead Kennedys sued him for the rights to their backcatalogue and are currently re-releasing it on their own label. (The rationales behind both the band's willingness to sell out and the advertisers' attraction to the song despite its strident anti-corporate message elude me--but I digress. Anyway...) I don't bring this up to imply that the release of Go Back Snowball's Calling Zero is a cashout maneuver of the same magnitude, but somehow it hits me kind of the same way. Minus the band-wrecking acrimony, I mean.


Of course I may be on thin ice with my theory of Calling Zero as indie-hucksterism, because the lynchpin of my argument is the album's surprising mediocrity. But, you object: tons of lackluster albums come out on indie labels every week, and that's more an indication of poor managerial taste than of a scheme to separate fans from their bucks. Sure, but check this out: Go Back Snowball features the talents (and I use the term loosely) of not one but two huge indie rock luminaries, both of whom have carried entire albums by themselves. Expectations were high; but alas, the fruits of Robert Pollard and Mac McCaughan's collaboration simply don't stand up to their best material, or even their merely solid material. Lazy, I'd call it. And therein lies the great swindle: even though this record suffers flagrantly from lack of effort, it will still be an essential purchase for both Pollard and McCaughan completists. You have to admire the marketing savvy behind it all. . . but that's not really what I'm here to talk about.


So, on with it then: Calling Zero is a classic example of all the right components adding up to a less-than-stellar end product. The sound is Portastatic with Pollard on vocals, which in theory could be an indie-rock fantasy come true, if not for the weak songwriting. Everything is in its proper place, from the standard-issue electric and acoustic guitars and keyboards to "eclectic" elements like horns and distorted percussion, but they never add up to very much. Instead of Pollard's usual fractured, nonsensical and irresistably quotable lyrics, we get unusually conventional musings on the typical Pollard topics: chicks, jet planes and alcohol. His vocal hooks sound dull and uninspired, much like what happens when less talented rock singers try to emulate his normal spur-of-the-moment eloquence.


The title track, for example, features a sluggish acoustic riff with a wandering electric lead, some cello in the background, and Pollard rambling on about his girl, Colleen. I can't describe it any better than that because there's not much to latch onto musically. Most of the record proceeds in a similarly languid fashion, almost never truly amplifying to rock in classic GBV or Superchunk style. The one track that did speak to me was "Lifetime for the Mavericks," which kicks off with this exuberant, overdriven power chord progression that reminds me of my high school garage days. . . that is, until McCaughan shoots it in the foot with some unwelcome keyboards and weak percussion. Plus the whole thing's less than two minutes, counting the 50-second guitar-only intro. Guess he couldn't be troubled with such petty concerns as, like, actually finishing the song.


I admit, I could be wrong; perhaps Calling Zero isn't a calculated attempt to hawk an inferior product to loyal fans on the strength of the associated names. Personally, I'd like to believe that Bob and Mac are as unsatisfied with the final product as I am. But it's part of the Fading Captain series, and whoever the hell runs Rockathon knows there's a built-in audience for every reel of tape with Pollard's name on it. I know there's nothing I can say to keep fanatics of either luminary away from this record, so I won't bother trying; but I'll simply exhort the rest of you to mix tracks from Bee Thousand and I Hope Your Heart Is Not Brittle for a far more satisfying listening experience.