Pitchfork

Of the noteworthy bands to emerge during the great American indie rock flowering in the mid-to-late 1980s, Camper Van Beethoven perhaps left behind the most uncertain legacy. Their California-baked, Middle Eastern-tinged ska-folk was always a bit too silly to appeal to dour, purebred hipsters; and they didn't stay together long enough to enjoy the commercial success of fellow college radio alumni like R.E.M., Meat Puppets, or Soul Asylum. And unlike other recently reunited acts like Pixies or Mission of Burma, Camper Van Beethoven have never been particularly influential. Then, of course, there's the Cracker factor. Although David Lowery's post-Camper unit have surely had their moments, too often it seemed as though Lowery's chief objective with that band was to deaden any lingering fondness aging CVB fans might have for him.

So despite the fact that their best albums-- particularly 1988's Our Beloved Revolutionary Sweetheart-- hold up as well as nearly anything from the era, the bottom line is that Camper Van Beethoven entered the new century with much of their music out of print and their reputation in desperate need of rehabilitation. Thankfully, the group's members recognized this and put themselves to work brushing away the cobwebs and sweeping up the rec room. Live reunion gigs and archival releases like their version of Fleetwood Mac's Tusk and 2002's handsome box set Cigarettes & Carrot Juice: The Santa Cruz Years primed the motor; now Camper Van has fully completed their re-ignition campaign with this bona fide reunion album, which features their entire classic line-up: Lowery, guitarist Greg Lisher, bassist Victor Krummenacher, drummer Chris Pedersen, violinist Jonathan Segel, plus David Immergluck on extra guitar and strings.

For better or worse, Camper Van Beethoven have gone to great lengths to ensure that New Roman Times is no mere nostalgia trip. Never a band to do things by half-measures, here they've delivered a full-fledged concept album/rock opera complete with a daffy plot about a fictional America divided into smaller republics (most notably the secular Republic of California and the Fundamentalist Christian Republic of Texas) who are at war with one another. The plot isn't always easy to follow-- and perhaps we'd all be better off ignoring it entirely-- but it does allow the band to employ some none-too-disguised political jabs as well as to indulge their taste for 1970s-style prog rock.

But it's this self-indulgent streak that gets New Roman Times off to an inauspicious start. Following the brief, uneventful introductory "Prelude", the band immediately launches into the ponderous math-rock of "Sons of the New Golden West". The track would be completely unrecognizable as CVB if not for Segel's distinctive fiddle above the din. When this unpleasantness is followed by the bland Crackerisms of "51-7" and the ridiculous FM power chording of "White Fluffy Clouds", you'd be forgiven for thinking that maybe this reunion wasn't such a hot idea after all.

However, things improve with the pedal steel lilt of "That Gum You Like Is Back in Style", a wistful country tune that would've fit effortlessly onto 1989's Key Lime Pie. With this track the group finally begins to hit its weird and familiar stride. At their best, Camper Van Beethoven are able to casually pull off genre-leaping exploits that most bands would be foolish to even attempt, and they reach just such a pinnacle when they bounce recklessly from the brain-damaged hoedown of "Militia Song" to the self-explanatory instrumental "R'N'R Uzbekistan" to the melodic gypsy sway of "The Poppies of Balmorhea". Other highlights include the surprisingly convincing cop-show funk of "Discotheque CVB" and the tripped-out "I Am Talking to This Flower" which eventually spills out into a nutty version of Steve Reich's tape-loop piece "Come Out". On these tracks-- and the genuinely disorienting "I Hate This Part of Texas"-- the group surprisingly re-attains the delightful THC-fuelled heights of strangeness that made them special in the first place.

Unfortunately, these high points are surrounded by plenty of semi-coherent nonsense about the wanderings of their fictional protagonist soldier boy, who is prone to making weighty pronouncements like, "I would die for hippie chicks!" In case you couldn't guess, the political content here is wielded with all the subtlety of a rubber mallet, and features such refined irony as Lowery chanting, "Might makes right/ God is on our side and makes us mighty." It's this broad streak of trite wise-assery that kept too many would-be listeners from taking Camper Van Beethoven seriously back in their heyday. And while the band has done much in the past couple years to restore their legacy to the respectability it deserves, one has to hope that their smirks don't torpedo this second act as well.