Dashboard Confessional
The Shade of Poison Trees
[Vagrant; 2007]
6.5/10

By David Sessions

I’d best admit right away that I have never heard a complete Dashboard record. I’m not talking absolute ignorance here—it’s been more of a “I-can-stand-that-on-the-radio” relationship with Chris Carrabba, but his status as the young father of emo (as well as the general profile of individuals who still listen to him) have always motivated me to steer clear of further acquaintance. Just the laughably portentous record titles alone—The Places You Have Come To Fear The Most, A Mark. A Mission. A Brand. A Scar., etc—reveal from whence first emanated the insufferable faux-angst that turned painfully awful poetry into a flourishing industry and, for some, a guiding life philosophy.

Fortunately, at least five albums into his career, Carrabba has a few things going for him. When he’s not half-screaming, he has a warm, attractive voice that lends itself to layering and cinematic affairs with the unaccompanied acoustic guitar. On “Where There’s Gold,” he wisely opens the record without desperate attempts to sound weighty. Bright acoustic strums back a sparse, pretty melody (not unlike the Goo Goo Dolls’ “Sympathy”), and imagery is reigned in to the point the most dramatic lines are “where there’s gold, there’s a gold digger,” which is true, and “mistresses have all the fun,” which is, depending on your point of view, perhaps also true.

Perhaps Carrabba is beginning to realize that he sounds his most emotive and most effective when he’s not trying—when he breaks it down to multiple tracks of his own voice, erring on its softer side, and the unplugged guitar (which has fallen decidedly out of fashion among the poison-and-razors set). “Fever Dreams” is uncomplicated in every respect, but it’s perfect. Over his strumming and barely-there percussion taps, Carrabba intones the rather encouraging fact that “fever dreams can only haunt you ‘til the fever breaks.” The disgustingly weepy but completely irresistible title track is devoid of overwrought metaphors, and whispers—with guitar and gentle chimes—“is there time?”

I’ve only mentioned four songs, which means there’s plenty of album left, and plenty of that album is a little too much like the old Dashboard—certain to please his longtime devotees, but far too silly to be mistaken for sincere emotion. You know you are listening to Dashboard confessional when every type of weapon known to humankind, as well as religious figures, a menagerie of harmful chemicals, and murderous “breath” can all make appearances in the same lyric. “Thick As Thieves” comes close to making sense, but is difficult to stick with after it whines “there’s a hemorrhage in your mouth, it won’t stop bleeeeeding.” Oddly spoken with disdain, Mr. Carrabba.

Taking the hysterical petulance to a new level, “Keep Watch for the Mines” inveighs against slander: “Keep watch for the mines/The concealed dangers/The traps and the coils of the wires/With the sharp razors.” It mentions dangerous sharp objects, but it’s painful for another reason altogether. And good melody aside, “Little Bombs” sounds too much like all the others to care about, and even more problematic: is it even possible for there to be this many women in the world with forked tongues and spinnerets?

Poison Trees isn’t all homage to the old days; thankfully there isn’t a sign of anything that can be referred to as “punk,” and in its place are some quite acceptable attempts at polished pop. “The Rush” blatantly winks at U2, and is notable for having an actual structure—verses, a chorus, and a hook. “The Widow’s Peak,” is characteristically verbose, but piano and a gorgeous chorus make it such a welcome turn for Dashboard that one can hardly resist calling it a highlight.

This record is supposedly all about Dashboard’s “roots,” and they are certainly apparent. But a musician can remain in tune with his roots ands grow at the same time—grow, as in maybe “sing lyrics appropriate for someone over thirty.” Carrabba’s growth (and presumably that of his faceless band) drips all over this record like the apple drips red poison on its cover. And despite a few obnoxious lapses, restraint proves to be a winning approach.

David Sessions is the editor of The CCM Patrol.