Pitchfork

Sparrow's self-titled debut is the new project from ex-Zumpano drummer Jason Zumpano, and that's about the most exciting thing I can say about it. Which is shocking given that Zumpano's two early 90s full-lengths for Sub Pop, Look What the Rookie Did, and Goin' Through Changes, both brimmed with sprightly blasts of instantaneous hookiness and shimmering youthful exuberance. But despite Zumpano getting its namesake from their drummer, Sparrow's debut may serve as yet another unfortunate reminder that Carl Newman, ex-Zumpano frontman and current New Pornographers guru, seems to have been the man behind most of Zumpano's kitschy irreverence.

If one chooses to disregard Zumpano's past, then Sparrow's tunes sound exactly as flaccid as one might expect coming from a band named Sparrow. The dreadful cover art alone can be considered a disclaimer for the tedious and mind-numbingly dull exercise in chamber-pop within; the cover displays a colorless illustration of a bird from whence the band assumedly gleaned their thrilling name, while the back of the album features a gray photo of Jason Zumpano, hands firmly tucked in his suit pant pockets, with an dispossessed expression across his face-- which also, ironically enough, was my reaction after attempting to remain focused on this grueling album.

Zumpano may be a fucking ridiculous drummer, but as exemplified by the relationship kiss-off "Don't Stand on Me", the guy can't sing worth a damn. Lines like, "Don't you think of standing on me again/ I knew that you were heartless," should spill over with sincerity, but instead seem completely callous and disconnected. By the time Zumpano reaches the liberating declaration of the song's conclusion, "You are gone, and I am happy," his delivery has been so indifferent that the words drift by in an empty fog without making the slightest impact.

Though Zumpano's vocals are seemingly beyond help, Sparrow would have faired somewhat better had the accompaniment sounded at all inspired. There's a possibility that it once did-- Sparrow was originally conceived, just after the breakup of Zumpano's band in the late 90s, as an instrumental affair. However, each number here seems plagued by their predominantly piano-driven arrangements, while an unrelentingly gray mix holds any potential charms captive. On the album's pastoral opening track, "Mountain on Mountain", a rolling piano motif, which should come off as an intricately melodic counterpoint, instead seems remarkably plaintive and uneventful. The would-be piano-and-drums bombast of "One Eye Closed" sounds more like a whimper, as ex-Zumpano guitarist Michael Ledwidge's lively chiming guitar chords, and the band's earnest attempts at backing vocal harmonies are, for better or worse, buried beneath the murky mix.

In fact, the only winning moment on the entire album comes with the very last number, the resigned acoustic ballad "A Broken Sign". Maybe it's that, amidst the colorless piano tones of Sparrow, the casual strum of an acoustic guitar can sound like a revelation, or that for the first time on the whole record, Zumpano's disenchanted vocal style seems to fit better with the generally apathetic lyrics of the song. Either way, its note of resignation by now echoes that of the listener; as Sparrow pensively draws to a close, so do its fans' expectations.