Pitchfork

Nevertheless, the mutual publication love party only goes so far. The Believer planted its flag on the lit-crit scene with an essay by editor-in-chief Heidi Julavits declaring an end to "snark," the practice of being a big mean bully hiding behind a byline and an artsy NYTBR illustration. Pitchfork, of course, is The House that Snark Built, and you'll have to pry the snark out of our Cold. Dead. Haaaaaands. Due to our different territories, these irreconcilable differences aren't a problem 11 months out of the year, but every June an invading party is sent with The Believer Music Issue and its accompanying compact disc supplement.

Now if there were ever an example of the narcissism of small differences, it's this; the CD included with the 2004 music issue was like a mix disc predicting our 2004 Top Albums list, featuring as it did folks like the Books, Ted Leo, the Walkmen, and TV on the Radio. This year's installment is likewise packed with Fork-friendly artists, although this time with a twist-- rather than simply throwing together the old previously-released material, The Believer challenges the participants to share the gift of royalties and cover a peer's composition.

'Tis a noble concept, allowing artists to pay rare tribute to contemporaries while keeping them from dusting off that cover of "Blue Jay Way" they recorded the night the bass player was too drunk to pluck. On the other hand, the stable of musicians selected for inclusion-- and the material they, in turn, decide to remake-- encapsulates the dullness of this strain of indie, a drab made exponentially stronger by the enforced cross-pollination. For The Believer has a fetish for indie rock that's literate (no duh) and guitar-based, and so we get a collection every bit as singer-songwriter-heavy as Starbuck's music except with a lower profile-- call it independent-coffee-store-down-the-street-from-Starbuck's music.

Who else could open a literary journal's music issue compilation than the Decemberists? Covering Joanna Newsom's "Bridges and Balloons", Colin Meloy sets the tone for the hour to come by performing it as a one-man acoustical jam, replacing Newsom's Lisa Simpson with his own Professor Frink. It's good; I prefer Newsom's compositions with a little more foundation. Also good on the sim-busking front is The Mountain Goats' cover of the Silver Jews' "Pet Politics", about as perfect a musical match as you can find. Other unplugged moments do little to rebut my coffee-shop impressions, such as the Cat Power clone two-fer in the middle (Josephine Foster and Cynthia G. Mason) or somebody named Two Gallants picking up the Neil Diamond worship where Crooked Fingers left off.

There's little to write 10-page essays about in terms of full-band performances either, with Spoon absolutely sleepwalking through Yo La Tengo's "Decora" (not that somnambulant isn't perhaps the appropriate means of addressing YLT) and the reappearance of the Shins' listless version of the Postal Service's "We Will Become Silhouettes". Only a couple tracks stand out as more than novelty and rarities-comp filler: Jim Guthrie's take on the Constantines' "Nighttime/Anytime (It's Alright)", which remakes the testosterone-rock of the original as a slow-burn violin funk, and CocoRosie's no-fi reinvention of Damien Jurado's "Ohio". Then there's Devendra Banhart taking on Antony & The Johnson's "Fistful of Love", which depending on your taste for unique vocal stylings, is either the sound of hell incarnate or a warbly dream come true.

So apologies to Snarkwatch, but this collection does little to increase its value beyond free handout. While the concept is noble, the editors would be advised to go with a less one-dimensional roster for next year's issue, to stretch out beyond the tight boundaries of acoustic-folk, freak-folk, and indie pop. A collection of contemporary covers like this one might work with a greater variety of sounds, or at least artists who listen to a greater variety of sounds-- why is the music world covered by The Believer devoid of hip-hop, electronic, or anything not made by (usually acoustic) guitars or the occasional harp? While the magazine is usually adept at pointing people towards wrongfully neglected corners of literature and art, this insular compilation does nothing but point at itself.