Into It. Over It. – 52 Weeks

I’ll admit, when I learned that I would be reviewing a 52 track double disc album spanning over 140 minutes, I was a bit overwhelmed.  My head was filled with questions like: where would I find the time? Could I actually sit through this monstrosity in one listen? And who would ever think 140 minutes is a reasonable listening time?  So I procrastinated for a while.  The album first started living in my car, but I soon realized that my trips were never longer than an hour, so that fell through.  Then I tried listening on my iPod, but couldn’t find a suitable context.  By now I was rather frustrated, so finally I ended up listening to it a week later during some down time while on a vacation with my fiancée.  We were playing a little Nintendo DS one lazy afternoon and I switched the beast on in the background.  But now I wish I hadn’t.

The album in question is the overly-ambitious autobiographical project (going by the name Into It. Over It.) of Evan Thomas Weiss, a current member of indie-rock group Damiera.  In 2008 Weiss set out on a year long journey to record 52 tracks (hence the title of the album, 52 Weeks), or a new track for each week of the year.  While apparently intended as an autobiography spanning from September 2007 to September 2008, the result feels more like recording music on a deadline, regardless of inspiration or drive.  In the inset Weiss admits to having “hardly [done] anything creative” the year prior to his journey and that he wanted to do something more.  Unfortunately it doesn’t seem that sitting down every Thursday to write a song remedied that trend.  In the end, Weiss doesn’t come across as remarkable in any way.  Instead his stories feel like those of a typical mid-twenties screw-up, living life from day to day with far too many sad stories to tell.

For that matter, and solely going on the album’s lyrical content, I would think that the guy is a mess.  It feels like every second song details breakups or regrettable decisions.  Phrases like “This was Supposed to be Our Year” run rampant throughout the disc.  About seven songs in, my fiancée turned to me, bluntly saying “this man’s been really hurt.”  It’s true, everything he says points to a clinically depressed man who hasn’t left his room in weeks out of the fear of everything he touches ending in tragedy.  Now I’ve been told this isn’t the case, but you wouldn’t know it listening to most of these songs.  Weiss does have a few witty and cynical one-liners scattered here and there – on the same level of other soloists like Ben Folds – but they’re sparse, and certainly not enough to carry an entire album.

When Weiss isn’t sounding depressed, he just sounds boring.  Songs like “Friday At Brian’s (I Have to be Up in Four Hours)” detail the philosophy of visiting friends (I’ve been told otherwise, but I just can’t find a different way to interpret this one), and “Ashley’s Big Adventure” chronicles events leading up to running late for work.  “Next Stop: The Olympics” made roll my eyes in disbelief – there’s an entire section in the affectionate song about shoe size, and how their “feet are the same size,” so they “could exchange sneakers” – you know, real hard-hitting, emotional stuff.  Sure it’s metaphorical, but that doesn’t make it any more exciting.  Now there’s something to be said about writing music for the common man, but that’s entirely different that writing music about a man as seemingly common as Weiss.  If you want to hear about normalcy, then look no further.

Musically, Weiss is a mixed bag.  On the one hand he has moments of soft and acoustic melodies, much like Death Cab For Cutie.  They’re easy to get into and fun while they last.  But most of the time these moments of clarity are followed up with a grating emo wail, finding Weiss repeating the same line into obscurity.  In one of many examples like “30 ft Spirit,” the song starts off pleasantly, only to degrade into a painful practice in repetition, as Weiss repeats “30 ft Spirit’s arrived” more times than remotely necessary.

So what you’re left with is a lengthy, ambitious release that falls flat on many levels. Sure, it shows personal dedication, but to what end?  Every moment of enjoyment comes crashing down either from boring lyrics, and a vocal style that no one could likely stomach for 140 minutes.  52 Weeks almost ruined my vacation, so save yourself the pain and pass this one by.