Review: Happiness...Is Not A Fish That You Can Catch
While Canadian rockers Our Lady Peace still seem to take some dark pleasure in issuing work with somewhat confounding titles, Happiness...Is Not A Fish That You Can Catch demonstrates far more assuredness and dexterity than their last effort, 1997's more-in retrospect-concisely christened Clumsy.
Our Lady Peace has always favored themes of confusion and despair and continue to exploit the same on Happiness. But here those feelings, if not more focused, at least carry a greater sense of self. The opening track, "One Man Army", while lyrically a folder full of nervous tics and backward glances, nonetheless takes a melodically unflinching march through a terrain where the landmarks are uncertainty, uneasy loss, and quiet betrayal. "Take these plastic people/Read their lips now let it linger/Is there anything that makes them sound sincere?/Tightly hold your hand/Take a deep breath give them the finger/Are you worried/That your thoughts are not quite clear?". On "Happiness & The Fish", lead singer Raine Maida neatly sums up the futility of self-exploration and/or self-medication with "I confess/Everyone is overweight and I'm obsessed/Talking is just masturbating without the mess/Addiction leaves you sad today and unimpressed." Happiness, then, according to Maida's sour grapes, is not only unattainable but boring, so why bother?
What makes these grim and dim observations tolerable is the material's crisp, direct construction and tunes that, while tethered in the Valley of Tears, still reach upward. The promise to return in "Blister" is told with one hand waving free while "Thief", whick looks to escape into the vacuum of space, is airy and uplifting. It's something akin to smiling at the firing squad and making that final smoke last forever.
Maida's vocal penchant for the octave shift tag, so favored by fellow countywomen Sarah McLachlan and Joni Mitchell, is sometimes overdone, but it's a small and mostly forgivable conceit. Drummer Jeremy Taggart's work is always forward moving without being overbearing, guitarist Mike Turner swings from savage to sincere, and bassist Chris Eacrett burrows neatly between the two. And more than one refrain will continue ringing through your head long after the last note has faded.
Our Lady Peace performs the tightrope walk of pounding without becoming ponderous, making statements that might taste like bitter almonds more palatable. Happiness may be boring, fish may be slippery, but trying to get your hands around them beats the alternative.
By: Tom Phalen
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