Robert Pollard

The question burning holes in the kangaroo pockets of hoodies across the indie-rock nation this winter is: Why should we give two shits about a new Robert Pollard CD? After 700 billion releases [figure approximate] under the Guided By Voices moniker alone since 1994’s Bee Thousand breakthrough, it’s hard to imagine that there are people still pining away for more Pollard. And it’s even harder to imagine that the middle-aged, alcoholic Cleveland schoolteacher-turned-rock-star has enough liver left to sustain basic physical motion, let alone the act of songwriting.

To be fair, the absurdly protean volume of Pollard’s official career output should be a moot issue: After all, nobody was ever forced to subscribe to the Fading Captain Series or sit through Relaxation of the Asshole, and that stuff was always pretty hard to find anyway. In truth, the one-two punch of the ass-kicking and ever-so-slightly premature GBV best-of Human Amusements at Hourly Rates and the band’s bittersweet 2004 swan song Half-Smiles of the Decomposed illustrated a rich history and a still-potent talent, respectively and despite all the odds.

The difference between From a Compound Eye and GBV’s output lies mainly in the scope of the music itself. There’s no detectable difference in Pollard’s vocal, melodic or lyrical approach. But up until now, Uncle Bob has consciously and strictly limited himself to the instrumental talents of whichever cronies made up his band at any particular time. He also never put out the equivalent of a double-album, preferring to keep things around the 45-minute mark. Now freed from these self-imposed constraints, Pollard goes for broke over the new CD’s 75-plus minutes, delving further into Genesis-like prog-rock (“Kingdom Without”) and Barrett-era Pink Floydery (“Conqueror of the Moon”) than ever before, without skimping on the pop anthems (“Dancing Girls and Dancing Men”) and garage stompers (“I’m A Widow”) that have always been his calling card. The whole thing can get a bit exhausting in its almost macho, chip-on-the-shoulder ambitiousness, but Pollard himself sounds anything but tired. Long may his liver function.