East River Pipe: The Gasoline Age

It's easy to view the three years between East River Pipe albums as an indulgence more suited to a rock star than a quiet home-recording enthusiast. In one regard, the accusation is well-founded: For some reason, F.M. Cornog—still the sole creative force behind East River Pipe—thought his beautiful, downbeat ballads would find a home at mega-major EMI. And in many ways, that's exactly where they ended up, until Cornog found a way to get out of a fishy agreement that left his songs lingering on some "material we own that will never see the light of day" list. Despite the long and no doubt frustrating delay, Cornog sounds more chipper than usual on The Gasoline Age, his third album—fourth if you count the excellent singles collection Shining Hours In A Can. Perverse as it may seem, part of the change seems to stem from Cornog's relocation from New York City to New Jersey. As its cover and title might indicate, The Gasoline Age is full of songs steeped in the American car mystique, as well as the glorified grunge of the Garden State. Yet where Bruce Springsteen's Jersey car anthems focus on trapped souls racing to get out of town, these dreamy songs center on the mystery of exploring new territory. "Party Drive" describes the surreal experience of drifting down empty streets in the middle of the night with "no cops in sight," while "Atlantic City (Gonna Make A Million Tonight)" is an unlikely en route fantasy about striking it rich. Cornog predictably avoids the bombast of The Boss, but he also packs plenty of pathos, and though the music still sounds like gorgeously glossy demos, the songs are presented with a bit more polish than usual. The synthy, slightly samey pleasures of The Gasoline Age aren't quite as compelling as Cornog's earlier works—in fitting with the car theme, some of it sounds like it was composed on cruise control—but East River Pipe still has a way with moody, mellow mini-epics that puts other sad sacks to shame.