Pitchfork

Morrissey worship incites antisocial obsessions, insomniac eBay skulking, and impassionate conversation nonstarters about the irony of Mozzer's perceived miserablism-- but few transcendent covers. Like coddled infants, the former Smiths frontman's songs may just be inseparable from their progenitor. So how can the Decemberists' Colin Meloy hope to succeed where David Bowie, Jeff Buckley, Hootie & the Blowfish, and t.a.T.u. all failed? He can't.

Meloy has admitted as much in recent interviews. That's why his six-song, tour-only Sings Morrissey EP is limited to 1,000 copies. But kids these days swap files the way the Yankees trade for pitching, so when the lead singer of a justifiably lauded indie band documents his pimply teenage fanboydom, 1s and 0s are bound to escape. As a quick download or a post-show impulse buy, these recordings serve their purpose. But the next time that C drive fills up, Windows may highlight a few "rarely used files."

For the most part, Meloy picks his material wisely. The first five songs are all decent-to-spectacular Viva Hate-or Your Arsenal-era b-sides. Their obscurity works to Meloy's advantage, like NBC's old "if you haven't seen it, it's new to you" rerun marketing strategy. Either that or he may just have picked them because "Suedehead" doesn't transfer easily to a single acoustic guitar.

"My Love Life" flip-side "I've Changed My Plea to Guilty" is the clear standout, as Meloy transfers Moz's piano-based torch song about a lonely innocent ("freedom is wasted on me") into arpeggiated guitar and earnest, if faltering, high notes. "Jack the Ripper" retains the anthemic chorus's Humbert Humbert-like appeal, but lacks the violence that propelled the original "Certain People I Know" b-side or its still-darker live version. "Pregnant for the Last Time" and "Sister, I'm a Poet" are twangy, upbeat, and no better than their so-so Morrissey counterparts.

It's on closer "Everyday Is Like Sunday" (here inexplicably listed as "Every Day"; I'll spare you my exegesis on why that's significant) that Meloy's greatest failing, other than not being Morrissey, is exposed: his voice. Those thin, reedy pipes-- tailor-made for singing about pirates and architecture-- don't do these songs justice. Also, dude, check the lyrics: It's "greased" tea. As in, "post-apocalyptic, tainted-by-nuclear-fallout" tea, or at least nasty "everyday" tea. Meloy's valiant effort ultimately falls short.

With luck, Morrissey will one day record a Decemberists cover or two (may I suggest "I Was Meant for the Stage"?). In the meantime, Meloy's Moz renditions, however well-meaning, are unlikely to displace the originals or even motivate new listeners to seek them out. I guess no one can hold a candle to Nancy Sinatra.