“Lolita“
from the album Moonbeams
2008
iTunes
The cover of Throw Me the Statue’s debut album, Moonbeams, features a topless swimmer arced in mid-air, turning a fall into a graceful dive. Taken by Norwegian photographer Heidi Johansen, the image has the feel of an unstaged vacation souvenir: There’s a boat in the background, a towel draped loosely around another woman’s head, and a big toe intruding into the lower-left hand corner. It’s well chosen: The casual composition and playful flash of nudity say quite a bit about the music contained therein, despite not including the name of the band or the title of the album. Moonbeams is a collection of loosely staged fuzz-pop songs about travel and sexual treachery, possessing a lens flare of regret even as they portray the singer — or at least his first-person counterpart in these songs — as a “lusty” soul living from one hook-up to another.
Throw Me the Statue is the clunky pseudonym for Scott Reitherman, who plays almost every instrument on Moonbeams and even released it on his own label before signing with Secretly Canadian. He introduces opener “Young Sensualists” with a brief overture of bright synths, then fades into darker, droning chords for his tale of a beach-set love triangle. The simple plucked strings, programmed beat, and melodic guitar solo give the impression of one guy turning himself into a band. And yet, just as the title hints at youthful self-mythologizing, the vacation details suggest that the inspiration came not from a postcard tacked to a bedroom wall, but seemingly from real experience.
The rest of Moonbeams bolsters that impression. Reitherman comes across as far too social — and far too well-traveled — for such a solitary pursuit; as the cover art suggests, he’s too worldly and musically curious to shut himself in. Moonbeams features a small backing band and a revolving roster of guests, including multi-instrumentalist/producer Casey Foubert, who has worked with Pedro the Lion and Sufjan Stevens. There are horns on “Groundswell,” samples on “Yucatan Gold,” and what sounds like an ambient accordion on the title track. Occasionally Throw Me the Statue’s musical range seems like an end in itself, as if eclectica were its own genre, but generally Reitherman’s range highlights his hooks and wordplay.
“About to Walk” begins with a static-crusted pong beat before Reitherman launches into a vocal melody that has him reaching into his upper range. “Yucatan Gold,” another tale of a vacation dalliance, begins with a syncopated percussion sample that nods to Latin American music, but as the other instruments enter, all that remains of it is the cowbell, twitching on offbeats. “She’s a crazy animal when she screams,” Reitherman sings. Overly dramatic and more than a little self-satisfied, it’s a silly refrain — an indie-pop nod to Girls Gone Wild.
Following the “juvie malaise” of “A Mutinous Dream” and the hopped-up horn section of stand-out “Groundswell,” the Hallmark imagery and funereal trumpet on the title track sounds too pedestrian, even for a song about his dead grandfather (well, especially for a song about his dead grandfather). Sure, it leads Reitherman to realize he’ll be dead a hundred years from now, but that’s a well-worn idea. Moonbeams is best when it is least sentimental, when Reitherman’s antihero coldly accounts for his own actions and confusions. Fortunately, the album doesn’t end with Reitherman flipping through old family photos, but with him softly singing “The Happiest Man on This Plane,” a drifting acoustic valedictory that confuses sex with love. Again. Adding a bit of carnality to an often asexual genre, Throw Me the Statue’s candor is compelling.