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Chris Walla
Field Manual
Barsuk Records
By Mike Randall

As the yin to Ben Gibbard’s yang in Death Cab for Cutie and the man behind the boards for releases by Tegan and Sara, the Decemberists and Nada Surf among others, Chris Walla doesn’t get many moments beneath the warm glow of the spotlight. Notoriety aside, the main difference between Field Manual, his debut solo release, and his gig as a background man is that Walla’s opinions now come through sonically and in verse, and the U.S. government is none too pleased.

As Death Cab proved with the maturity of Plans, replacing starry-eyed love ballads with more serious and polished tones and textures was the inevitable next step after their indie masterpiece, Transatlanticism. Walla has pushed that mentality further, dishing sharp political commentary so strong the hard drive containing the files was reportedly confiscated by border guards as the tracks made their way into the United States from Canada, where Field Manual was recorded. It wasn’t returned.

Walla calls for a song to bring everyone together during troubled times (“Sing Again”), but the message is more anger than peace. The album kicks off with Walla’s floating a-cappella voice suggesting, “All hail an eminent attack.” A yearning for Henry Ford’s America, it’s the strangest song on the record, yet foreshadows the fear and mistrust that resonates for the remainder of the disc. “The FEMA trailer does not ease the blow,” he sings on “Everyone Needs a Home,” perhaps the most directly accusatory line of the post-Katrina era. That sentiment continues on the sleepy “A Bird Is a Song,” which expresses more than tinge of doubt as to how America came to be in such a predicament as Walla questions, “Who would need escape, who would seek salvation from a place so bright and clear?”

To his credit, Walla doesn’t take the record too far in terms of over-production, instead sticking closely to the Death Cab format. The dreamy, mid-tempo skin makes it clear that although Gibbard provides the content, Walla is the architect of the band’s atmospheric identity - three of the stronger tracks on the record, “Geometry,” “It’s Unsustainable” and “Holes,” sound like they could have been lifted off of Plans. Walla only breaks away from that intimate, moody formula a couple of times, and to mixed results. Field Manual’s most up-tempo number, “The Score,” finds Walla entering Matthew Sweet’s alt-rock neighborhood to no avail, while conversely the California/Rickenbacker sound of “Our Plans, Collapsing” definitely suits his range and might foreshadow the direction of the next Death Cab album.

If anything, Field Manual proves two things: 1) Walla has something to say and he doesn’t hold back 2) Death Cab would be a very different band without him. While certainly not a frontman (his ash-y delivery functions best as Gibbard’s gentle backbone, not center-stage alone and submerged beneath the layers), his songs hold up surprisingly well without Gibbard to command them. He seems out to prove that the lead singer might get the most press, but it’s the introspective guy that steers the ship and deserves to be taken the most seriously. If the government’s interest in Walla is any indication of just how seriously he’s taken, center stage might be calling a little more often.