Review Summary: Turn the signal back to heaven, sounding blue / And bring me faithful back to you
Bryan St. Pere was the definition of disciplined. Hum’s use of patient tempos and walls of distortion evoke images of a looming tsunami, and St. Pere’s punishing drumming embodies the eye of that storm, effortlessly toeing the line between muscle and elegance in a way few percussionists have ever displayed. His play style was one of selfless service; the egotistical overplaying that plagues many drummers was nonexistent in his resumé, his musicality and brilliant synergy with the band ensuring that he knew what every song required almost preternaturally. I began my deep dive into Hum’s discography last year with 1998’s
Downward Is Heavenward, first gaining appreciation as a fan, but then as a drummer, finding myself in awe every time St. Pere would thunderously enter an arrangement and thinking “that is
perfection”. The world of music tragically lost Bryan St. Pere this past June, and while his time on this earth has come to a close, what he gave to his listeners only ages more and more gracefully.
You’d Prefer an Astronaut is not Hum’s best album (I would personally bestow that honor upon their stunning reunion album
Inlet), but it is without question Bryan St. Pere’s shining moment as a performer. It features plenty of the stomach-churningly slow and crushing atmosphere that would define the group’s later work, but also some of the most youthful energy and vivacious momentum of any of their more acclaimed albums. Certain aspects of the relentlessness and unfocused attack of 1993’s
Electra 2000 remain here, but they’re streamlined through the band’s noticeably refined songwriting abilities, with St. Pere anchoring everything steadily through the achievement of a lifetime. With one major exception toward the album’s conclusion,
Astronaut is expertly paced, slotting the multifaceted sleeper hit “Stars” in between the frenetic “The Pod” and creeping “Suicide Machine” to construct a moody pendulum of a tracklist. Tim Lash and Matt Talbott are well known by now for their roaring guitar tones, but they also bend cleaner sounds to their advantage on a variety of cuts here, from the intro of the aforementioned “Stars” to the stunning “Why I Like the Robins”. Talbott settles comfortably into the restrained and inexpressive vocal style that would dominate the band’s following two albums, while also occasionally letting loose and creating some of the record’s most jaw-dropping moments (see the ending of “The Pod”). Bassist Jeff Dimpsey is another man who knows the meaning of discipline, contributing lines that are simple and understated while remaining rhythmically clever. Observe the way the rhythm section twists and turns beneath the cosmic wail of the guitars on opener “Little Dipper”, or the steady and melodic lines that Dimpsey lays down on “I’d Like Your Hair Long”, centering the melody amidst the structure’s constantly shifting meters.
There behind it all is
You’d Prefer an Astronaut’s Most Valuable Player, Bryan St. Pere. It’s almost silly how much this man’s drumming elevates every single track on the album; seriously, “The Very Old Man” is only given direction by his timekeeping, which is all that rescues it from being a complete afterthought (although it still comes close). While even St. Pere can’t breathe life into closing slog “Songs of Farewell and Departure”, the overwhelming majority of
Astronaut’s tracklist features at least one moment per song that will have the listener zeroed in firmly on him. Even when expressing restraint, like on “Little Dipper” or “I Hate It Too”, it’s his ear for subtleties and musical phrasing that impresses. “Why I Like The Robins” sees him pack as much sophistication into a simple 6/8 rhythm as he can carry, while “The Pod” utilizes unexpected double kick to reach a stunning peak. Then there’s “I’d Like Your Hair Long”, already the album’s clear standout to begin with, somehow lifted to even greater heights by what is now one of my favorite drum performances of all time. St. Pere occupies every inch of the spotlight on this track, connecting his catchy yet polymetric verse groove to the cascading tom flourishes of the hook effortlessly and efficiently. The ending must be heard to be believed, showcasing his enviable amounts of limb coordination in the song’s quieter section before slamming into an even louder and more angular riff that may be Hum’s single greatest moment as a band.
You’d Prefer an Astronaut signified the beginning of Hum’s creative ascension, and while it contains two tracks that mostly miss the mark, the remainder of the album’s runtime is of such high quality that any listener will be able to walk away satisfied. The record’s best moments are a wonderful blend of both Hum’s earlier and later sounds, demonstrating both mastery of their previous sonic direction as well as extraordinary premonitions of what was to come. It would eventually be topped by future endeavors, but it will stand the test of time, both as a fantastic album and as the major highlight in the career of a fantastic drummer.
