The Evens: The Evens

With a bewildering but typical lack of hype, fanfare, or even word of mouth, one of punk rock's towering figures has managed to form a new band, mount a small tour, and record an album. Ian MacKaye, figurehead (and disowner) of the straight-edge movement, young energy ball at the center of Minor Threat, co-founder of Dischord Records, and undeniably powerful singer-guitarist for Fugazi, now shares a quiet duo called The Evens with Amy Farina, and the cultural seismograph has barely registered a rumble. Weird, considering the justified fuss surrounding each move the currently on-hiatus Fugazi makes, but certainly not the only unexpected thing about this self-titled debut.

Composed almost solely of MacKaye's baritone guitar, Farina's drums, and both of their voices, the album marks a serious step away from the direct bombast of MacKaye's past, delivering an understated payload that nonetheless maintains an edgy spirit. Hints of MacKaye's willingness to wander showed up on Fugazi's soundtrack to Instrument, and on The Evens, he explores that minimalist streak. Less is definitely not more, The Evens seems to imply, but less can be plenty if delivered with passion. The visceral impact of charging guitars is gone (and missed), but the fortysomething MacKaye has earned the right he's always maintained anyway—to follow inspiration without regard for a potential audience.

Which isn't to say that The Evens is difficult listening; at times, it's more user-friendly than Fugazi. MacKaye's baritone guitar—which essentially sounds like a six-stringed bass guitar—is, by its nature, limited to providing a rumbling melodic undercurrent, and Farina (who used to play with MacKaye's brother in The Warmers) makes a similarly Spartan noise with her drums. That leaves a pair of voices to evince most of the feeling, and the two do an admirable job at mixing politics and personality. Farina's tone is all early-'90s indie, the untrained, occasionally flat, and engagingly expressive sound of bands like Velocity Girl or The Crabs, while MacKaye sounds slightly resigned to not shouting. The two utilitarian voices mesh nicely, resulting in songs that are folk-like in their simplicity and directness, but never in their sound. The songs that get directly political (like "All These Governors") aren't as well-served by the spare lineup as more diffuse material like the excellent "Blessed Not Lucky," but all possess an absorbing air of legitimacy.