Here's an album I've listened to for over two weeks and still haven't been able to wrap my head completely around. However, the longer I hold on to it without sharing it with the reading public, the greedier I feel in keeping it all for myself. Besides, I'm not completely certain that spending another week with Jackie Cooper haunting my CD player would really give me any more insight than the bits I've already gleaned -- and in fact, I kind of hope it wouldn't.
There's a certain joy in finding an album that's not only infinitely listenable, but also brimming with an abundance of "little things", the likes of which we reviewers and music fans in general will rave about for weeks, to the tune of, "I hear something different every time I listen to this disc!" Occasionally that's just because we really didn't pay much attention the first time and suddenly stumbled onto genius after being left alone with an underappreciated album. Other times, as on The New Mood, I honestly feel like I can spin this one a few more times and still be surprised. That's a good album.
Jackie Cooper produce a variation of that now-ubiquitous "angular" jazz-rock that's become all the rage. Theirs happens to be a more melodic blend than some others, owing to their reliance upon what I'll term as "appropriate" chords and notes rather than the vogue atonal variety. This does not mean that Jackie Cooper produce standard rock, nor does it mean that they channel the adult contemporary leanings of Fugazi; instead, they breed their own beautiful brand of cautiously distorted vocals, intertwined sharp guitars and no-nonsense drumming, all of which is smoothed over, polished and then raised to the heavens with a dose of authenticity and handmade care. It's the kind of music that washes over you and envelops you, inviting you to drown rather than desperately pulling you under.
Whereas "Absinthe" creeps upon you before unleashing its cathartic swirl, "Eclipse" lopes along gently, ever-coaxing yet never truly earning our trust. Still, like the unsettling uncle whom we always liked yet somehow suspected might drag us off under the hedges where no one would find us for twenty years, the lure is sufficiently enticing that we'll take our chances. The potentially jarring transition between the forlorn strings of "Innuendo" and the electronic drum vibe on "Memento" serves its purpose, keeping us awake and appreciative of the vintage '80s homage evolving here between the Brian Eno structure and the Flock of Seagulls keyboards. "I over R" amps up into bona fide rock territory with an undeniable opening hook before unleashing a postmodern Coldplay anthem. "After the Catapults" has its finger on the pulse of a euphoric paranoia, kind of like being trapped in your own body, powerless to stop the surrounding onslaught and watching the chaos with a rush of detached fascination. "What's a Dream?" wraps things up with a touch of begrudging optimism, though it could just as easily be mistaken for having given in to despondency. Which begs the question: wouldn't giving in produce a feeling of calm in the end after all? Seven vital songs and some existential questions, all in under 28 minutes? Amazing!
The usual platitudes just don't seem to work in conveying the depth, the skill, the rewarding atmosphere evoked on The New Mood, so I'm bending the rules a bit. That I can't talk about Jackie Cooper in terms that actually make any concrete sense is a blessing in disguise; it isn't often that an album comes along and forces you to think in non-linear terms just to describe it. If you were in my shoes, you'd do what I'm doing now: treasure the album like a newfound favorite while struggling to adequately recommend it to every enlightened person you know.
