Robyn Hitchcock: Jewels For Sophia

Robyn Hitchcock began his career as part of the indefinable late-'70s band The Soft Boys, went solo, retired briefly, then returned backed by The Egyptians, a group he fronted to semi-stardom in college radio's late-'80s, pre-Nevermind heyday. After dissolving the band and switching labels, Hitchcock has quietly settled into creating the most satisfying work of his career, "quietly" unfortunately being the optimum word in some cases, as in the virtual burial of the Jonathan Demme-directed concert film Storefront Hitchcock. There are far worse fates, but Hitchcock seems forever destined to be a cult favorite, but never a pop star. This is true even though no one is better at what Hitchcock does; of course, it doesn't hurt that no one really dares try. There's no shortage of fine '60s-style pop and psychedelia-inspired music being made today—look no further than The Flaming Lips or the Elephant 6 collective—but Hitchcock's inimitable songwriting sensibility (coupled with his ability to create absurdist lyrics with humor that verges on pathos and pathos that verges on humor) makes him a singular figure. Carrying forward the promise of 1996's Moss Elixir and the Storefront soundtrack, Jewels For Sophia finds him delivering some of the most intimate, mature songs of his career—if songs dependent on frequent references to insects can be called mature—becoming more accessible without compromising a bit. Enlisting the talents of, among others, most of the Young Fresh Fellows, Peter Buck, Grant Lee Phillips, and former Soft Boy Kimberley Rew (presumably taking a break from rolling around in his "Walking On Sunshine" royalties), Sophia delivers both fast-paced pop ("Viva! Sea-Tac," "Elizabeth Jade") and slow introspection ("No, I Don't Remember Guildford," "Mexican God"). That Hitchcock can make lines like, "Oh, I dream of Antwoman / with her Audrey Hepburn feelers" (on "Antwoman") sound touching or deliver an ode to cheese ("The Cheese Alarm") without embarrassing himself says everything. Hitchcock may remain a relatively well-kept secret, but on albums like Jewels For Sophia, that's just about his only failing.