Portugal. The Man, an Alaskan indie band via Portland, Oregon, has consistently earned two desirable adjectives since their 2006 debut album: experimental and ambitious. American Ghetto, the newest addition to their ever-growing family of albums, was released less than eight months after their last full-length, The Satanic Satanist. Portugal. The Man is quick to conceive, barely giving their previous album a chance to take its first steps or speak its first words before diving back into the womb of the studio. Ambitious, you say? Quite!
This type of ambition, however, could get Portugal. The Man into trouble. American Ghetto starts with a bang. Three extraordinary songs in a row start the album off—not counting the minute-long second track, “Break,” which is both filler and somewhat necessary ambience. But the burst of melodic insight that gains Portugal. The Man its lead at the beginning of American Ghetto eventually winds down to a mere fizzle by the album’s latter half. The moral we learned from Aesop’s “The Tortoise and the Hare” is apparently true of both good races and good albums—best to keep a steady pace or you’ll lose your energy by the final few laps.
In some ways, American Ghetto is a vast improvement over Portugal. The Man’s first few albums and, in other ways, a disappointment. The sonic quality of their studio production is excellent: crisp percussion, gorgeous vocals, falsetto harmonies and catchy-as-ever choruses. But, like the difference between earlier Death Cab for Cutie masterpieces (i.e. The Photo Album and Transatlanticism) and later Death Cab albums that were successes in production more than songwriting (i.e. Plans), what was lost was the inspired songwriting that made the band notable in the first place. Not that Portugal. The Man are going anywhere in the direction of Death Cab for Cutie, just yet. Their experimental oddness is still securely in place; it’s just hidden beneath the production. Bands do evolve over time and Portugal. The Man have to be given credit for sticking with their indie roots, releasing all of their albums to date under their self-appointed label, Approaching AIRballoons, who recently partnered with indie giant Equal Vision Records in 2008. Perhaps it was this partnership that…no, no, couldn’t be…could it?
Regardless, there are a handful of songs worthy of heavy praise. “The Dead Dog,” the album’s opener, introduces a head-bobbing backbeat that is reiterated in various mechanized forms throughout American Ghetto’s groove-laden, poverty-stricken landscape. Swirling guitar modulation and fuzzy bass lines weave themselves from speaker to speaker, an effect noticeably enhanced with headphone use. This setup is repeated in “60 Years” and then again in “1000 Years” and then again in…you get the point. That Portugal. The Man use the same set of sounds doesn’t detract from the album, however. It gives American Ghetto a certain cohesiveness throughout.
“All My People,” the album’s standout track, begins with a simple beat coupled with acoustic guitar smacks, accompanied by beautifully layered harmonies that fade in and out throughout the song. It’s a dynamic toe-tapper that builds upon its own ideas to an incredible effect. The electric guitar in and just after the chorus is subtle yet strong. When the instrumentation drops out for the song’s outro, the layered harmonies that made themselves present in the song’s intro are left bare—a stunning moment of clarity on the album.
Ironically, “Fantastic Pace” is where the album begins to drag. The repetitive melody front man John Baldwin Gourley employs in the verses is less than fantastic, but the chorus is decidedly catchy—a song split 50/50 vocal-wise with a piano drive that is fitting in its simplicity. The squeaky wah-tinged guitars strung through this song and its funked up follower, “The Pushers Party,” are more annoying than obligatory and detract from the charm the song would have had without them.
Picking the pace back up in “Do What We Do,” Gourley & Co. push their last convincing effort on the album with a hand clap and hi-hat pop song that begs the question, “Do you live in that big, bright sky?” It isn’t clear, exactly, whether he’s speaking to God, a deceased friend or family member, Big Brother, or Peter Pan.
It is also unclear whether American Ghetto is a lamenting ode to its title’s namesake or a societal scolding, pointing the finger back at the shambled inhabitants to whom it sings. It is similarly vague as to whether Portugal. The Man are looking out from the within the cracked cement walls of the ghetto or an outside perspective looking inquisitively in. Under the noble guise of awareness, Portugal. The Man has forgotten to include itself in the picture. Lyrics allude to party scenes and drugs, narratives tell of unwanted children, instability and poor education, and there’s a newfound focus on city beats typically found in hip-hop music. But is this a sincere association or a cultural assimilation akin to the Beat Generation’s absorption and adaptation of African-American jazz slang in the 1950s?
The quickness with which American Ghetto was released calls attention to the uninspired melodies and lyrics that are spread across the latter half of the album. Ignoring that, the music that carries Gourley’s pretty falsetto along might do well to give him a little kick in the pants now and again, as it did frequently in their earlier recordings. There’s an inconsistency between verses and choruses in the second half of the album that should be addressed. How can the chorus hooks be so good when the verses are so bland and repetitive? Why are there such trite verse lyrics that lead to such intriguing chorus lyrics? Oddly enough, most of the instrumentation doesn’t seem like a rush job at all—the production shimmers, the bass digs deep and the drums are an ever-present reminder that music can be danced to, that music has the ability to wiggle our little limbs for us. But what Portugal. The Man has improved upon in the way of production they have lost in substance. Just take another listen to the frantic, thin, hook-filled Waiter: “You Vultures!” and you’ll hear the difference implied. If only they’d digested their ideas a few months longer.
Track List:
1. The Dead Dog
2. Break
3. 60 Years
4. All My People
5. 1000 Years
6. Fantastic Pace
7. The Pushers Party
8. Do What We Do
9. Just a Fool
10. Some Men
11. When the War Ends
