by Jack Rabid, The Big Takeover
F.M. Cornog returns with his eagerly awaited second LP after the appreciative murmurs caused by his debut, Shining Hours in a Can (the British Goodbye California, plus all his stellar early 7& songs as additional tracks). Reviews that attempted to lump the uniquely talented Cornog in with some sort of &lo-fi& revolution, with such bands as Guided by Voices and Sebadoh -- since Cornog contents himself with recording 8-track in his home -- are misguided and laughable. For while those groups -- ERP is a person -- record haphazard, sporadic bursts of whatever tunes come into their heads, Cornog is busy multi-tracking undefiled recordings of his simple, neo-spiritual arrangements -- he's more Pet Sounds than The White Album. Poor Fricky in particular puts some distance between him and those other 24-track/mega-studio-eschewing-folks. Its 13 burbling tracks are more in the vein of Shining Hours's &Make a Deal With the City& (too bad nothing here is as nasty or as nerve-racking as &Psychic Whore& or &Helmet On,& but that's OK), with a supremely prickling ambiance in his simple, only-slightly distorted, dreamy guitar signatures. Sometimes he'll add an ice-pop organ, and his vocal is as yearning and slightly resigned as ever. The likes of the luscious &Bring on the Loser& (nice sentiment, that, the opposite of &in your face&), and the happy &Here We Go& show that as he progresses, Cornog gets more and more likable, not a lonely loser but a transcendent-pop lover, as he better navigates his home portastudio for maximum results. Poor Fricky is as fresh as Pop'n'Fresh dough (and the doughboy spokesman, hoo-hooo-ho), and as gently babbling as a Spring brook. From a nondescript Astoria apartment to us, this is direct communication.