As long as we’re dismantling notions of what we typically expect from supposedly hubristic musical vanity projects from actors, let’s just go ahead and assume that the title of She & Him’s debut album, Volume One, isn’t a cheeky suggestion that “there’s more where that came from,” but is actually a recommended decibel level. Volume one — low, soft, sweet, non-aggressive, present but ghostly. If M. Ward and Zooey Deschanel are smart enough to harness the warm, lived-in pleasures of AM radio stylings from Brill Building sunshine to countrified toe-scuffers to Peggy Lee-grade torch songs, it’s also probably a pretty good bet that they won’t particularly mind if, in the course of the album’s running time, you find yourself occupied with activities other than devoted listening, like making dinner, chatting with your sister, or kissing on the sofa.

Other than various and snarky blog-derived epithets, one of the harshest criticisms many contemporary music fans feel they can possibly throw at a given song, album, or artist is that it’s just background music. You see it anytime Starbucks gets their beans on a new band and the leap in logic goes from “Hmm, maybe that means this will appeal to a wider selection of listeners” to “It must not be very good because it so easily blends in with the ambient noise of cash registers and espresso machines.”

Setting aside for the moment the endlessly rehashed arguments about elitism, popularity, demographics, and commodification, there’s a pervasive and troubling unwillingness to believe that musical sophistication always and necessarily requires undivided attention. Which is, obviously, not to say that close listening doesn’t often yield extremely satisfying rewards; it’s just that, maybe we shouldn’t have to work so hard all the time to enjoy what we enjoy? Maybe, instead of allowing our headphones to keep us locked in to an emotionally redolent but, yes, isolated soundtrack to our lives, we should revisit the joy of public listening — that sudden happiness that washes over us moments before we realize that one of our favorite songs is quietly playing on a radio somewhere in the distance, just barely above the threshold of our consciousness, and it sounds every bit as good as, if perhaps more fragile, more poignant than, it does when it’s enveloping us at full blast.

It’s this very same fragility and poignancy that She & Him have managed to capture right out of the gate. In the absence of any garish lookatme! urgency, they’ve endowed this album with the gift of space. Big, Phil Spectorish cathedrals of sonic space on one end of the spectrum, and the delicate, sympathetic pointillist space of friendship on the other. The adoration and mutual respect between the two principals here is the big beating heart on this album, a beating heart that’s big enough to extend to the listeners, whoever and wherever they may be. Ward and Deschanel are too professional to have been tempted to skate by with any old good-natured but boring “let’s get all our friends together and put on a show” kind of self-indulgence; they don’t expect us to be inherently interested in what they have to say just because of who they are. Yet their creative fascination with mid-twentieth century sounds and forms becomes fascinating to us as well because we’ve been invited to this cotton and cashmere sock hop in the full spirit of friendship.

And for those of us who, like myself, come to She & Him primarily as M. Ward fans, that friendliness couldn’t be more of an apt description. As his guitar lines and occasional vocal harmonies poke out around unexpected corners of the songs, firmly but never obtrusively, one almost can’t resist the urge to wave at the stereo and call out, “Oh, there you are! Hi, Matt!” These gorgeous little showers of musical flower petals aren’t winkingly self-conscious enough to be teasers, exactly, for whatever his highly anticipated solo follow-up to 2006’s brilliant Post-War may be, but they are certainly welcome reminders of just how much we have to look forward to.

As estimable as his talents are, it’s a testament to their friendship that he never once places them in opposition to Ms. Deschanel’s contributions. If anything, he goes way out of his way to make her sound as good as possible, especially on the cover songs “You Really Got a Hold on Me” and “I Should Have Known Better” where his harmonies feature most prominently. Maybe it’s just a side effect of picking a key that would best suit both of their vocal ranges, but she sings in a noticeably lower part of her voice on these tracks, and the effect is remarkable. She sounds warmer, mellower, and even more relaxed, if that’s possible. These lines probably aren’t as much fun for her to sing as the big powerhouse ballads and up-tempo showstoppers like “Take It Back” and “This Is Not a Test” where she really gets to belt it out at the top of her chest voice, but they best fit with the prevailing mood of effortless embrace that makes Volume One so winning.

And even after the last notes have faded into tape hiss and then to nothingness, the spectral, insinuating charms of Volume One have a way of lingering on at an even quieter, more private volume, as they go rattling around in your memory, as you continue with your dinner, your sister, or your kisses, the glow of friendliness still tingling after you’ve said goodnight, sweetheart.

She & Him MySpace Page
Merge Records