Music Review: Josh Rouse's "Subtitulo"

Following the old-soul smoov grooves of 2003’s 1972 and the general excellence of last year’s Nashville, much was made of the fact that Subtitulo, Josh Rouse’s next LP, was recorded in Puerto de Santa Maria. Spain, that is. Stickers affixed to the jewel case herald this fact specifically, as though it’s some Nintendo Seal of Quality or royal imprimatur. Sure, if an artist wants to incorporate another region’s sound, it befits that artist to put some boots on the ground. It worked for Paul Simon at least once—twice if you count The Rhythm of the Saints. But these marketing dudes wanted to imply that recording studios in Spain are set up right on the high tide mark of a scalloped sea that’s just lousy with bathing maidens, and intrigued gulls perch on the neck of your cherrywood guitar as you play, and the distant cries of kids at play aren’t loud enough to rouse you from a light and blissful doze.

Well, to listen to Subtitulo, all of that may as well be true. But the canny listener should contextualize this origin story. Contrary to what you may have heard, Subtitulo is no mere exercise in regional airs and traditional instrumentation. Instead, it finds the Josh Rouse sound in full effect, with benefits. And yes, these benefits do take the form of subtle triangles, an affection for the bossa nova beat, and a host of lightly-picked acoustic guitars. “Quiet Town” starts us off on this vacation with a tambourine beat, a dependable finger-picked riff, and Rouse’s perfect perfect coo. For Rouse does possess one of the smoothest voices in pop music today. Moving on: “Summertime”’ could be a Sea & Cake / Sam Prekop outtake sans the time changes and paranoid rhythms; its acoustic guitar runs to and fro the way sandpipers do. As a competent instrumental segue piece, “La Costa Blanca” comes across as slightly heavier stuff than the rest of the album’s material, but it still belongs on that Pacific Coast Highway mix you’re planning to use this summer. “It Looks Like Love” is the most rocking of the tunes, and the nearest example of Rouse’s previous work. Monster hooks, an impeccable lead vocal, flirty lyrics delivered with a roguish half-grin, and a footstomping lull 2/3rds of the way through that makes the reiterated chorus sound even more lush.

There are missteps: “Givin’ It Up” has a few too many pious strings, as though trying to make up for the liquor-based debauchery described in the lyrics with orchestral flair and a driving beat that’s a little too steady. And the end of “Wonderful” features a needless (and thankfully faint) ethnographic outro; this brief faux-Survivor theme sounds like Rouse’s proof that he really was in Spain, he swears. But all’s not lost: Subtitulo heads into evening with “The Man Who…”, a coy bossa nova duet that tries too hard to transcend its influences via a stock backbeat that struck this listener as pretty incongruous… but then a slide guitar comes in, and another acoustic guitar comes in, all twang and one-raised-eyebrow, then Rouse counts off a whispered 1-2-3-4 like some anti-Springsteen and kicks the song back into its particular sort of delicate overdrive. And finally there’s album closer “El Otro Lado”, which sounds like what we can expect from Iron & Wine if Sam Beam ever writes a song from a hammock.

He’s always been a traditionalist, this Rouse; in the course of acknowledging the 70s soft rock he loves, he’s risked committing the same sins of overproduction and too-smooth sonic textures. With Subtitulo, he avoids the trap yet again primarily because he’s a such a canny student: he knows his AM radio, he knows what makes a song sound like a sunshot island’s soundtrack, he knows his own developing aesthetic. Rouse’s grasp of pop music history and where he fits in it is what lends him his distinction, and it’s what makes this record seem—at a scant 33 minutes—like the passing seabreeze it really is. Which is a strong selling point. I’d put it on a sticker.