Michael Penn
MP4 [days since a lost time accident] (Epic/Fifty Seven)
by Marc Hirsh
Michael Penn
MP4 [days since a lost time accident] (Epic/Fifty Seven)
by Marc Hirsh
originally published in Space City Rock, Fall 2002
Pity poor Michael Penn. In March 2000, he had to watch helplessly as both his wife and his brother were nominated for, and did not win, Academy Awards, creating a diversion that allowed Sony to release and then bury MP4 [days since a lost time accident] in the ensuing confusion. All of the attention devoted to the extended and well-received Acoustic Vaudeville tour that began around that time seemed to focus on the blonder, female half of the bill despite Penn putting in some excellent performances. And through those days of high hopes followed by dashed expectations and relegation to supporting status, Penn remained as he has been, one of the most gifted songwriters working within the field of pop music for the intelligently bitter.
The best moments of MP4 demonstrate that handily by playing with more ornate production than Penn usually uses; 1996's "Christmastime," his outstanding duet with Aimee Mann, seems to be the keystone of his current sound. "High Time" gets bigger and bolder as it expands to fill the available sonic space as a way of marking the intersection of past and future and confronting someone who stands indecisively between the two, while the booming production of the opening "Lucky One" is huge from the get-go, with plenty of room for Penn's corkscrew-logical lyrics. The album credits include a "Play Loud" tag, usually reserved for more aggressive music, but it's less an ironic joke than a simple matter of equivalencies: a roomful of instruments went into this record, and therefore the listener deserves a roomful of sound. That the production of some of these songs is so crucial to their quality is less an indication of their gimmickry than proof of how well Penn works with a wide palette.
MP4 has problems, though, and they're not small. The biggest is a truly peculiar resignation imbued throughout, something not isolated to the songs' lyrics (not necessarily trouble by itself) but which seeps into their very structure. The album quite simply runs out of steam after "Don't Let Me Go" or, more accurately, during it; after building up to a sublimely pained anguish for the second time, the best song on the album doesn't end so much as stop, over before it's truly done. He coasts from there. In fact, all of MP4 seems to be at a loss for satisfactory conclusions, as too many songs fail to finish properly. "Lucky One" changes entirely from gorgeous Spectorian flourishes to Lennonesque Beatlisms, which don't really belong together ("Instant Karma" notwithstanding). "The Whole Truth," with its anguished leads during the chorus continuing Penn's somewhat surprising career arc as whip-straight gonzo guitarist, sort of dissipates quickly, whereas "Beautiful" takes its time to do the same (the closing "Bucket Brigade," by contrast, seems never quite to begin). It's no big deal if it only happens once or twice (nor would it be a recognizable problem if the songs were no good to begin with), but it's far too prevalent here, repeatedly resulting in a sort of pop song interruptus.
What MP4 is not, then, is a perfect album; Penn has yet to make one of those, although if he'd paid a bit more attention to the last 45 seconds of each song, he'd've come closer than he has on any album except 1992's Free-For-All. It is, however, another occasionally sparkling gem, better, certainly, than 1998's well-intentioned but somewhat lacking Resigned , and with more good songs on it than Madonna's last album. Michael Penn is, whether he means to or not, building up a catalog that will one day feed into one of the great career-encapsulating compilations. I, however, have no use for those cretins who choose to wait for such an easy way out.