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esting opening, and the song is half over before James enters with a high, attenu- ated melodic line, including one perilous octave leap. "Te Bear," a song off Te Tennessee Fire, employs the crescendo in a very sophisticated way. Starting with a gentle drum and voice theme, the music builds in emotional intensity. "Golden," on the other hand, is quite simply a lovely legato melody, occasionally double- tracked by the omnipresent James, who also plays guitar and is the group's found- er and a songwriter of great talent. I could go on to describe the Beatles-like beat and complex syncopations of "Off the Record" and could swear that the gently nostalgic romance that is "Librarian" was a lost Beatles gem. But no: the remarkable James. Te way he approaches his vocals, often and variously harmonizing the melody either with double-tracking or help from other band members, recalls somewhat the Beach Boys. Classic influences seem to be everywhere: the length and complexity of the introductions, the multi-layered versatility of the instrument playing, the use of counterpoint. Tis is very much a thinking man's rock. I will not stick my head out like a former London Times music critic, who claimed the Beatles were the greatest songwrit- ers since (the long-dead German master) Hugo Wolf. But I do think beauty of tone and melodic invention, allied to complex and innovative accompaniments, make a few hours spent with Louisville's pre-em- inent rock group a rewarding experience. For me, I enjoyed the gentle, lyrical stuff but will not attend a concert — in part because of the excruciating volume and lively, over-energetic crowds — or buy an album. I'd prefer the word "ad- mirer" to "fan." Final thought It's not just the tunes, but also the lyr- ics, that confuse and confound the gen- erations. Both consider the others' words bizarre and nonsensical. A long time ago, when my brothers and I were inflicted by the Beatles craze, we would drive our fa- ther nuts by singing in our most drawled- out howl: "She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah!" In his day, he'd tell us, they had real songs with real lyrics, and we would press him for an example. "Well," he'd say. "Mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey. A kiddley divey too, wouldn't you?" Tanks, Dad. Columnist Tomson Smillie's book, How to Listen, Learn, Love Opera is available at thomsonsmillie.com or at Carmichael's. 7.12 LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE [23] www.lamkinwealth.com www.westportvillage.com