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This story was published April 7, 2005 in The Cavalier Daily, U.Va.’s student newspaper.

When I went to Plan 9 to pick up The Bravery’s self-titled debut album, the guy who rang me up looked at the CD. “Oh, hell yeah!” he said. Eagerly, I asked if he liked the album. He handed me the receipt, looked at me funny and said, “Oh, the CD? I haven’t heard it. I was just saying ‘hell yeah’ in general.”

I put the album in my Walkman and left, a little confused. That feeling hasn’t gone away.

Maybe I’m just feeble minded, or maybe it’s because The Bravery’s lyrics are crappy and don’t make sense. Either way, The Bravery is chock-a-bock full of clichés and incomprehensible phrases.

Exhibit A: “Too many fingers/too many thumbs/something wicked this way comes/the best time I ever had/waiting around for something bad/and I know that’s why you love me, chica.” The only person allowed to use “chica” in a professional music setting should be Carlos Santana.

Despite the wack wording, I liked the album. The melodies are catchy, and there is something endearing about five guys wearing eyeliner and dancing stiff-legged. I spent last summer listening to The Faint’s Blank-Wave Arcade; now I associate hot weather with heady drum beats and plenty of synthesizer, two prominent elements of The Bravery’s sound.

The first appealing track, “Out of Line,” begins with choppy synth work and a catchy drum beat. Soon, metallic guitars lighten the mood and airy vocals pull everything together. Clearly the album’s best, this song shows The Bravery’s knack for cohesive, dancey music.

“Give In” reminds me of U2, but without any underlying messages. In fact, that’s a defining feature of the album — The Bravery is shallow music. It’s only strong on the surface, but I’m still captivated by its charm.

Tracks like “Swollen Summer” and “Public Service Announcement” are the band’s attempt at avoiding labels (Bad ’80s Cover Band) or catching flak from music scenesters (SPIN’s harsh verdict: Jocks with Makeup.)

The hair band guitars and frenetic beat in “Swollen Summer” power a multi-vocal chorus: “It’s like a swollen summer/what if I’m getting dumber/what if I’m just in denial/what if they come and cop my style?” Three questions that keep me up at night too, boys.

And just when the lyrics couldn’t get any worse, the Strokes-y “Public Service Announcement” delivers the ultimate diss: “You put the broke in broken hearted/you put the ‘art’ in retarded.”

The Bravery’s single, “Unconditional,” has gotten medium-heavy airplay on MTV for several months; through music videos and interviews, they have been branded a superficial, image-obsessed group of New York posers. Their CD carries that vibe; the liner notes say, “Recorded by The Bravery … in various bedrooms and at Bushwick Studios.” I get the feeling the guys haven’t been in the scene long enough to gain the necessary humility. Part of being indie/emo/underground is suffering in silence, unless you’re Dashboard Confessional, in which case you suffer on airwaves all across America.

I don’t like The Bravery’s emaciated lead singer, their blurry press photos or their vanity and apparent self-absorption. But the music is great.

So I’m just going to say “Hell yeah,” and leave the decision up to you.

This story was published September 8, 2005 in The Cavalier Daily, U.Va.’s student newspaper.

I’ve had it. I’m serious now — I have had enough of the somber, self-serving, sniveling, sad-faced music of today. This means you, Elliot Smith, Bright Eyes, Nick Drake, Dashboard Confessional, Damien Rice and The Decemberists. You too, Belle and Sebastian, Coldplay, The Shins, The Smiths and … Death Cab for Cutie.

Put the guitar picks and piano pedals down, sad fans. It’s not that I dislike the above bands, it’s that I’m sick and tired of feeling sorry for myself. For God’s sake, can’t we be cheerful, just for one teensy track?

Death Cab for Cutie’s new album, Plans, is a masterpiece in the art of misery. There’s talk of hospitals, death, break-ups, one-night stands — it’s all here. But what makes the CD incredible is not its content — it’s the way the songs are presented, in sweetly-penned lyrics and golden tones.

Plans is DCFC’s first album for Atlantic Records; their other four were released by Seattle-based indie label, Barsuk. Transatlanticism, which came out two years ago, brought the band their highest level of recognition yet. It even earned them a mention on The OC, and believe you me, that’s the real way to gauge your self-worth.

Plans and Transatlanticism share many common elements, like DCFC’s classic airy sound and electropop vibe. Drummer Jason McGerr compared the two: “If Transatlanticism was an inhale, Plans is the exhale.”

He’s right. In Plans there is an aspect of breathing out, of disappointment, of the end of something, even if it’s just the final step in the intake of air.

The album’s first three tracks are the most enthralling. “Marching Bands of Manhattan” showcases Ben Gibbard’s sweet, luscious voice while “Soul Meets Body” uses tiny melodic variables that intrigue you, while maintaining a comfortable feel.

My favorite is the third track, “Summer Skin.” The combination of simple piano chords and unrelenting tapping from the snare drum inspire the most feeling in me. It is here that Death Cab has achieved their ultimate goal: I am able to take their lyrics and apply them to my own adventures while staying true to the emotional path the band originally intended.

I am continually impressed by Gibbard’s ability to form powerful lyrics, like “On the night you left I came over/And we peeled the freckles from our shoulders/Our brand new coats were so flushed and pink/And I knew your heart I couldn’t win/Because the season’s change was a conduit/And we’d left our love in our summer skin.”

The acoustic-osity (somewhere, an English professor is cringing) of the album builds in the latter songs. “I Will Follow You into the Dark,” “Someday You Will Be Loved” and “What Sarah Said” sound remarkably like Simon & Garfunkel, with a twist of Lennon.

Plans is worth your money and your time. It’s a lovely collection of sad songs — if that’s really what you’re in the mood for.