Cake Album Falls Short of Potential

Cake doesn’t find itself on the top of the pop charts too often, but it’s not because they aren’t talented. This alt rock quintet blends jazz, funk and occasionally bluegrass or country all while singing about whatever the hell they want. Not only that, but lead vocalist John McCrea’s sardonic drawl infuses irony into just about any subject. From droll and mocking social commentary about teenagers in their first single “Rock n’ Roll Lifestyle” to a checklist of the best qualities in a woman with their most popular “Short Skirt/Long Jacket,” Cake has successfully sauntered their way around college radio stations since the mid-nineties. Unfortunately, it’s been seven years since their last studio album, Pressure Chief, and it shows a bit. While loaded with their trademark vibraslap, melancholy trumpet and twangy, gangling guitar riffs, Showroom of Compassion has all the signs of going through the motions.

McCrea’s unique lyrics stick to their often down-in-the-mouth subject matter, and thrive best when he’s telling someone’s quirky, if tragic, tale. For the most part, Showroom lacks many compelling vignettes, with only the vibrant “Mustache Man (Wasted)” to help make up for that loss. Opening with McCrea literally growling into the mic – vibraslap forever in hand – and hollering incoherent, the track adds life to the rather listless, brooding failed romances that surround it. Gabe Nelson’s jumpy, moody bass and Vince DiFiore’s signature trumpet solos launch into the tale of the titular Mustache Man, complete with mop-top and horn-rimmed glasses, fondling girls in the back of his shag wagon. It’s an interesting enough story but feels less inspired than previous albums’ efforts. McCrea’s lyrics are usually anything but derivative – in Comfort Eagle’s “Opera Singer” he told the story of the self-absorbed opera singer waxing poetic about his awesome life; in Fashion Nugget’s “Italian Leather Sofa” he divulged the account of a superficial, over-sexed couple’s fondness for getting it on on the furniture – but “Mustache Man” isn’t quite convincing.

The album’s first single “Sick of You” features McCrea’s distinct half-yelled, half-sung lyrics, his accompanying shouts, and energetic guitar riffs. The heavily syncopated spoken word verses, self-deprecating and criticizing materialism, are classic Cake – “Every camera every phone/ All the music that you own/ Won't change the fact you're all alone.” It makes up for the more simplistic, poppy tones of the chorus.

“A Long Time” harkens back to McCrea’s most favored writing technique – talking to “you,” usually a girl who’s broken his heart. As with all of his you-directed songs, he almost never steps back and addresses his various girls in the third person as “she.” A heavy back-beat and synthesized harmonies set a swarthy, seductive mood as McCrea reminisces about driving around in his ex-girlfriend’s Pontiac – and also keep the repetitive chorus from getting too monotonous.

The first 20 seconds of “Easy to Crash” is prime material, a heady mix of moog and bass. Technically all the components should add up to make a great song: distorted guitar riffs blend with trumpet and a smart bass beat accompanies McCrea as he drones on about excessive spending, city-living and the common American. As with “Sick of You,” the subject matter is sharp, but there’s a sense of innovation missing here that resonates throughout the album as a whole.

What should be a bold next step in the band’s progression winds up as a toned-down, fill-in-the-blank record, unconvincing and lacking in sincerity. They’re not bad songs – just like Showroom isn’t a bad album – it just falls short of Cake’s usual acerbic, tongue-in-cheek cynicism.