This is, believe it or not, the fifth album from cult US slacker rockers Cake. Of course you will know them best (only?) for 1996’s one-off chart hit ‘The Distance’ (you know, “reluctantly crouched at the starting line, engines pumping and thumping in time, the green light flashes, the flags go up… we’re going the distance, we’re going for speed, etc. etc.”) back in an almost forgotten time when TFI Friday was a cultural barometer for post-Britpop UK tastes. Naturally they were quickly labelled a novelty – not exactly aided by following that up with a cover of Gloria Gaynor’s female break-up anthem ‘I Will Survive’, as cheeky a smirk as they may have performed it with – packaged up and bundled off back to obscurity. This was, and frankly remains, a shame.
They have continued to put out consistently harmless but thoroughly enjoyable American indie, the perfect embodiment of its unpretentious values, ever since. And ‘Pressure Chief’ is no exception. They hang around somewhere in-between Death Cab For Cutie and The Postal Service, probably as much by accident as anything else, such are the magpie characteristics they exemplify. That you know exactly what you’re getting with this record makes it no less effective.
The lyrics are quirky, but in a ‘laughing at your mate’s shit jokes after a couple of shandies’ kind of way, as opposed to a ‘I’m not a violent man, but someone please shoot the yank wiseass’. Like the dearly departed Pavement they think this music lark could be fun if we’d all just cheer the fuck up – there are no anti-Iraq diatribes here. ‘She’ll Hang The Baskets’ is a gorgeous Weezer-esque country sing-along with it’s eye on a sunset, ‘No Phone’ is like Modest Mouse composing a 70s cop show theme tune in the wild west and ‘End Of The Movie’ is a silly minute and a half that reminds there’s nothing better than a banjo to make you smile. Inconsequential old fashioned escapism at its best.