Guest Book Review: Moloka'i

Moloka’i: A Novel by Alan Brennert (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2004. 400 pp)

Born in New Jersey and raised in Southern California, Alan Brennert received a Bachelor’s degree in English from California State University at Long Beach. In addition to novels, Brennert writes short stories, screenplays, teleplays, and musicals. For his work on L.A. Law, he was awarded an Emmy in 1991. During his career, Brennert has also won a People’s Choice Award and a Nebula Award.

When Disease Alters Everything

Set in Honolulu in the 1890s, Rachel Kalama lives a normal life as a typical five-year-old girl when her mother discovers that she has a sore on her leg that won’t heal. The official health inspector quickly discovers Rachel’s malady (Hansen’s Disease, better known as leprosy) and she is torn from her family. Shipped out to an island of isolation, Rachel finds herself in the company of other lepers in the city of Kalaupapa.

Happiness and Loss

Rachel’s story is both one of happiness and of loss. It’s a sort of dualism that plagues the book, perhaps an effective commentary on our own lives. She experiences the loss of people she loves constantly throughout the book, meanwhile gaining new loves.

I’m amazingly moved and impressed by Brennert’s ability to find the depths of the soul where very few authors try to tread. Through this novel, Brennert poignantly tugs at the heart of the reader by forcing the reader to emotionally invest in unusual characters and their unique circumstances.

The Burden of Hansen’s Disease

Few readers want to dive into the life of someone with Hansen’s disease. Yet, Brennert forces the reader to dwell with these people. He forces the reader to know the life, the adventures, the love, and the loss of someone whose life has been drastically changed by a debilitating illness. The reader knows Rachel just as well as she knows herself, and eventually comes to the realization that Hansen’s disease took everything from Rachel, but also gave her something more in the end.

I obviously enjoyed the book. I think Moloka'i would be great for people that love Hawaiian culture and I’d strongly recommend it for anyone wants a simple, easy read.

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Andrew Jacobson is the director of Choral Studies at Bellevue Christian School in Bellevue, WA.  He holds an MM in Music Education from Boston University, as well as a BM in Music Education from the University of Washington.  He loves wine, food, reading, music, and movies.

Looking for a Job? Consider Writing a Personal Biography

We all want to grab the attention of someone we hope to impress, and we’re tempted to do just about anything to be noticed. Remember Elle Wood’s pink and scented resume in Legally Blonde? She is not alone; officious employees have tried a myriad of attention grabbing techniques over the decades.

Photo by Jason Tavares

With a new crop of fresh graduates submitting resumes on the open market, Michael Margolis at the 99% suggests in a recent article entitled, “The Resume Is Dead, The Bio is King” that job applicants should reconsider submitting a weighty resume in an effort to impress. Instead, a well-crafted narrative will do a better job of piquing the interest of potential business associates.

On the surface, the reason for the shift in viewpoint seems simple: thumbing through a large stack of resumes can be a daunting and mind-numbing task for potential employers. A captivating bio can break the monotony of an endless sea of self-reported accomplishments, former employers, and schools attended.

Richard Nelson Bolles in What Color is Your Parachute writes, “an employer is going through a whole stack of resumes, and on average he or she is giving each resume about eight seconds of their time… Then that resume goes either into a pile we might call ‘Forgeddit,’ or a pile we might call ‘Bears further investigation’” (73).

The bio, as Margolis suggests, has a greater chance of ending up in the second pile because it helps the employer distinguish who one really is beyond a tedious list of deeds done.

But the bio, apart from offering a release from the monotony of reviewing resumes, has a deeper influence: the human psyche seems predisposed to story. From an early age, we are drawn to the hero or heroine, enraptured by the ensuing conflict or struggle that inevitably comes, and renewed by a character’s victory or hope of redemption. As children, stories ignite our imagination when protagonists battle dragons and slyly outwit venomous villains. In The Uses of Enchantment, Bruno Bettelheim writes, “Like all great art, fairy tales both delight and instruct; their special genius is that they do so in terms which speak directly to children” (53). And we might add, adults, too. We never lose our appetite for a good story.

And herein lies our point: story transforms who we are as human beings. We’re shaped by it, and we shape it. When we tell our story (or attend to the story of another), we wake up and experience more of life. Story, like few other experiences, stirs passions and remembrances of days foregone, and reminds us that pain from failure and disillusionment from broken promises can bring growth. Through story we become more human.

Photo by Stephen Poff

In A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, Donald Miller asserts, “I’ve wondered, though, if one of the reasons we fail to acknowledge the brilliance of life is because we don’t want the responsibility inherent in the acknowledgement. We don’t want to be characters in a story because characters have to move and breathe and face conflict with courage. And if life isn’t remarkable, then we don’t have to do any of that; we can be unwilling victims rather than grateful participants” (59).

Yes, in today’s limping economy a bio might increase your prospects of landing a job, which is good news for the job seekers out there. But maybe you should write your bio with a desire to become more integrated, as well as connected to the world around you. Drafting a resume is safe; penning your story and sharing it with others requires risk and fortitude. In a slowly recovering economy, let’s take time to look inward, outward, and upward. It is these postures of learning and our capacity to intuit self and the larger world that makes one truly desirable in organizational life.

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John Terrill is the director of the Center for Integrity in Business.

Donovan Richards is the research assistant for the Center for Integrity in Business.

Book Review: Oryx and Crake

Oryx and Crake: A Novel by Margaret Atwood (New York: Anchor Books, 2003. 376 pp)

Born in Ottawa in the autumn of 1939, Margaret Atwood grew up in Ontario, Quebec, and Toronto. She attained her B.A. from Victoria College, University of Toronto and her M.A. from Radcliffe College. Atwood has written more than 50 works of poetry, children’s fiction, fiction, and non-fiction. While she is most known for her many novels, her book, Blind Assassin, received highest acclaim winning the prestigious Booker Prize in 2000. Currently, she lives with Graeme Gibson in Toronto.

Patenting Nature

Last year, my wife and I watched Food, Inc. on Netflix. While much of the movie shocked us, nothing was more appalling than the brazen business practices of Monsanto. Both by genetically modifying the soybean and patenting the new strain, the company, in reality, held a monopoly on soybeans.

As it stands, if a farmer desires to grow soybeans, he or she must work through Monsanto. To make matters worse, Monsanto decrees that farmers are not allowed to save seeds after harvest for next year. Instead, farmers must buy another set of seeds from Monsanto.

Despite the many unreasonable practices seeping out of this corporation, what really bothered me about Monsanto was its ownership over nature. By modifying a seed commonly found in nature, Monsanto staked a claim on that portion of nature for as long as it exists. The very idea that a corporation can own an aspect of nature – something we typically consider part of the global commons – is absurd.

If Monsanto Ruled the World

Depicting the corporation taking over the natural world, Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake explores the frightening possibilities of a dystopic world transformed from natural to synthetic.

Our protagonist, Snowman – known as Jimmy before an apocalyptic event removed humanity from earth – looks after the genetic creations of his best friend, Crake. Inhabiting a barren wasteland with both a midday sun too scorching for human skin to withstand and a collection of genetically modified creatures seeking the feast of human flesh (the wolvog, or part wolf part dog, is particularly frightening), Snowman hovers on the edge of insanity.

Comparing this wasteland to civilization at its peak, Atwood pens,

“Strange to think of the endless labour, the digging, the hammering, the carving, the lifting, the drilling, day by day, year by year, century by century; and now the endless crumbling that must be going on everywhere. Sandcastles in the wind” (45).

The Struggle to Survive

Convinced that he is the last surviving human and faced with dwindling supplies, Snowman must decide between guarding the children he swore to protect and enduring another expedition for supplies.

During the narrative, Atwood brilliantly interposes scenes from before Armageddon. Tracing the story through Jimmy, Crake, and the interest of both their affection, Oryx, Atwood links the current maladies with a society governed by corporations who seek profit above human good.

In this society, the virtues and altruistic behavior of civilization has been replaced with the carnal desires of base human beings. Atwood writes,

“When did the body first set out on its own adventures? Snowman thinks; after having ditched its old travelling companions, the mind and the soul, for whom it had once been considered a mere corrupt vessel or else a puppet acting out their dramas for them, or else bad company, leading the other two astray. It must have got tired of the soul’s constant nagging and whining and the anxiety-driven intellectual web-spinning of the mind, distracting it whenever it was getting its teeth into something juicy or its fingers into something good. It had dumped the other two back there somewhere, leaving them stranded in some damp sanctuary or stuffy lecture hall while it made a beeline for the topless bars, and it had dumped culture along with them: music and painting and poetry and plays. Sublimation, all of it; nothing but sublimation, according to the body. Why not cut to the chase?
But the body had its own cultural forms. It had its own art. Executions were its tragedies, pornography was its romance” (85).

The Children of Crake

As the book unfolds, the reader learns more and more about the mysterious children of Crake, the creation of Snowman’s best friend. Without releasing too much detail, these creations act like humans but aren’t exactly part of the classic category, homo sapien. Amongst other oddities, the children of Crake lack much of the understanding gained over a lifetime in culture. This point is exemplified when Atwood writes,

“’What is toast?’ says Snowman to himself, once [the Children of Crake] run off. Toast is when you take a piece of bread – What is bread? Bread is when you take some flour – What is flour? We’ll skip that part, it’s too complicated. Bread is something you can eat, made from a ground-up plant and shaped like a stone. You cook it… Please, why do you cook it? Why don’t you just eat the plant? Never mind that part – Pay attention. You cook it, and then you cut it into slices, and you put a slice into a toaster, which is a metal box that heats up with electricity – What is electricity? Don’t worry about that. While the slice is in the toaster, you get the butter – butter is a yellow grease, made from the mammary glands of – skip the butter. So the toaster turns the slice of bread black on both sides with smoke coming out, and then this “toaster” shoots the slice up into the air and falls onto the floor…
‘Forget it,’ says Snowman. ‘Let’s try again.’ Toast was a pointless invention from the Dark Ages. Toast was a ritual item devoured by fetishists in the belief that it would enhance their kinetic and sexual powers. Toast cannot be explained by any rational means.
Toast is me.
I am toast” (98).

As the final line in the quotation suggests, Snowman echoes the general feel of the book as he becomes increasingly pessimistic regarding his living scenario. Atwood asserts,

“Snowman opens his eyes, shuts them, opens them, keeps them open. He’s had a terrible night. He doesn’t know which is worse, a past he can’t regain or a present that will destroy him if he looks at it too clearly. Then there’s the future. Sheer vertigo” (147).

The Human Condition

Ultimately, Oryx and Crake explores what it means to be human. Without a civilization around him, is Snowman a human? Does culture constitute humanity or is it physical existence? Despite their peculiarities, are the Children of Crake more human than Snowman simply because they have culture, albeit an odd one? 

Stated differently, Atwood asks,

“Can a single ant be said to be alive, in any meaningful sense of the word, or does it only have relevance in terms of its anthill?” (371).

 Oryx and Crake is a book of heartbreaking beauty. With love and disaster, Atwood explores the human condition through a world controlled and destroyed by big business and genetically modified organisms. Where Monsanto terrifies me with its patenting of nature, Oryx and Crake applies this concept in its fullest scale. Despite the horror portrayed, this book is masterful. Highly recommended.

Film Review: Super 8

Super 8 directed by J.J. Abrams (Amblin Entertainment, Bad Robot, and Paramount Pictures, PG-13. 112 minutes)

Starring Joel Courtney, Kyle Chandler, Elle Fanning, and Riley Griffiths.

Mystery

Shrouded in mystery, the trailer for Super 8 reveals very little plot. From it, we get a clear picture that J.J. Abrams is interested in telling a story through concealment. Much like Ernest Hemingway’s writing style, this form of narration builds suspense as the human mind fills in the blank spaces.

Super 8 is a science fiction film that depicts a small town’s encounter with a dangerous unknown being. The protagonists of the film are a group of children who are filming a Super 8 zombie movie. While filming a scene at the local train station, they encounter a treacherous and mysterious train derailment.

Having survived the incident and slipped away before the Air Force arrived, the youth start to experience strange happenings around town as dogs run away, people disappear, and appliances malfunction. Coupled with an overbearing Air Force presence, it is clear something is afoot.

But, that is all I shall say in summary. J.J. Abrams intended for this movie to be mysterious and who am I to rain on his parade.

The Importance of Concealment

So let’s discuss the importance of concealment in movies. For me, the most impressive portion of Abrams’ film is the way in which he portrays the narrative without explicitly revealing it.

As an example, Super 8’s opening scene illustrates a factory that carries a sign advertising the number of days since its last accident. As the shot focuses on this sign with its numerals suggesting over 2 years of safe working conditions, an employee removes the digits and replaces them with the number 1.

While an over-the-top,Michael-Bay-like movie would depict the character getting crushed by a steel beam, Abrams communicates the same idea with the removal of a number. As Super 8 unfolds, Abrams’ tendency to unveil the plot in small portions develops suspense and makes for a better movie.

Pretty Good

Although the suspense created a fun viewing experience, Super 8 lacked strong dialogue and, at certain points, relied on special effects. As such, the movie is entertaining but not emotionally moving. Twenty years from now, I doubt we’ll look back at Super 8 and label it a classic in the mold of E.T. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the movie enough to recommend it.

Book Review: Slaughterhouse-Five

Slaughterhouse-Five, or the Children’s Crusade: A Duty-Dance with Death by Kurt Vonnegut (New York: Dell Publishing, 1969. 216 pp)

Kurt Vonnegut was a fourth-generation German-American who lived in easy circumstances on Cape Cod (while smoking too much), who, as an American infantry scout hors de combat, as a prisoner of war, witnessed the fire-bombing of Dresden, Germany, “the Florence of the Elbe,” a long time ago, and survived to tell the tale. Slaughterhouse-Five is a novel somewhat in the telegraphic schizophrenic manner of tales of the planet Tralfamadore, where the flying saucers come from. Peace.

The Muzzle of a Gun

Despite the glorification of war on the silver screen, the principle of war is not only brutish and disheartening but also perhaps the most disgusting trait of humanity. Although other animals fight and kill each other on occasion, the speed, efficiency, and scope by which humans kill each other is unparalleled.

For some, war is a necessary evil. To them, when dialogue fails to rehabilitate a group, nothing forces correct behavior like the muzzle of a gun.

For others, no amount of conflict necessitates the taking of another’s life.

Even a war universally justified like World War II has its detractors. Of course, the atrocities of Hitler required a response and no pacifist condones Hitler’s actions. But some people don’t bleed red, white, and blue.

Dresden

In the bombing of Dresden, Allied forces fire-bombed an entire city indiscriminately. In addition to the many military personnel who perished in the burning city, 25,000 civilians died. Vonnegut, a prisoner of war in Dresden at the time, experienced the calamity first-hand and found its destruction futile in the grand scheme of things. In Palm Sunday, he wrote of his book, Slaughterhouse-Five,

“The Dresden atrocity, tremendously expensive and meticulously planned, was so meaningless, finally, that only one person on the entire planet got any benefit from it. I am that person. I wrote this book, which earned a lot of money for me and made my reputation, such as it is. One way or another, I got two or three dollars for every person killed. Some business I'm in” (302).

With Slaughterhouse-Five – perhaps his most famous work – Vonnegut retells the story of the Dresden fire-bombing through a nonlinear narrative, an exploration of fate vs. free will, and a darkly satirical voice.

Nonlinear Narrative

The novel follows the life of Billy Pilgrim, a Chaplain’s Assistant in the war and an optometrist in his later years, as he time travels between his experience on the front, his life post-war, and his time spent on Tralfamadore, the home world of the alien race who abducted him.

Time: An Exploration of Fate vs. Free Will

These aliens view time much differently from humans. While humanity understands time in one direction, the Tralfamadorians view all moments in time simultaneously.

Influenced by his abductors, Billy Pilgrim jumps between eras in his life inadvertently. His perception of circumstances is exceptionally fatalistic. When it comes to death, Pilgrim glibly exclaims, “So it goes.” He knows that death is only one moment among many simultaneously occurring circumstances.

Vonnegut’s dark view of human nature expands when he pens,

“’If I hadn’t spent so much time studying Earthlings,’ said the Tralfamadorian, ‘I wouldn’t have any idea what was meant by “free will.” I’ve visited thirty-one inhabited planets in the universe, and I have studied reports on one hundred more. Only on Earth is there any talk of free will’” (86).

A Satirical Voice, Darkly

On top of these philosophical notions, Vonnegut writes beautifully. His inventive prose is entertaining, evocative, and creative. Discussing a moment when Billy perceives time in reverse, Vonnegut writes,

“American planes, full of holes and wounded men and corpses took off backwards from an airfield in England. Over France, a few German fighter planes flew at them backwards, sucked bullets and shell fragments from some of the planes and crewman. They did the same for wrecked American bombers on the ground, and those planes flew up backwards to join the formation.
The formation flew backwards over a German city and that was in flames. The bombers opened their bomb bay doors, exerted a miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, and lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes. The containers were stored neatly in racks.
The Germans below had miraculous devices of their own, which were long steel tubes. They used them to suck more fragments from the crewmen and planes. But there were still a few wounded Americans, though, and some of the bombers were in bad repair. Over France, though, German fighters came up again, made everything and everybody as good as new.
When the bombers got back to their base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks and shipped back to the United States of America, where factories were operating night and day, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals. Touchingly, it was mainly women who did this work. The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas. It was their business to put them into the ground, to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody ever again.

The American fliers turned in their uniforms, became high school kids. And Hitler turned into a baby, Billy Pilgrim supposed” (75).

The Futility of War

Despite the prose jumping from decade to decade and from earth to a distant planet in the universe, Vonnegut ultimately centers the story on the fateful bombing of Dresden. Instead of glorifying war and creating charismatic heroes, Vonnegut considers these deeds futile. Concerning one of Billy Pilgrim’s fellow soldiers, Vonnegut asserts,

“There are almost no characters in this story, and almost no dramatic confrontations, because most of the people in it are so sick and so much the listless playthings of enormous forces. One of the main effects of war, after all, is that people are discouraged from being characters (164).

Whether or not a just war is possible, the actual performance on the frontlines of battle is a heartbreaking part of the human condition. Is it possible for humanity to stop war amongst its constituents? Are we capable of change? Will time even present a conclusion? Vonnegut believes that a dance with death is necessary for great art. He danced in the fires of Dresden and Slaughterhouse-Five was the result. Just as many find hope in an excellent war story, others flourish with a well-told anti-war novel. Slaughterhouse-Five is a brilliantly written book. If you have yet to read it, please do so.

Film Review: Blue Valentine

Blue Valentine directed by Derek Cianfrance (Hunting Lane Films and Silverwood Films, rated R. 112 minutes)

Starring Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams.

The Anti-Reality of the Hollywood Divorce

What kills a relationship? Hollywood typically answers this question in extremes. Too often, a marriage falls apart as a husband is unfaithful or a wife completely changes her personality.

In real life, many relationships end with the passing of time. When people jump into commitments early, the warts and ugly spots of each person creep out and many marriages lose during the test of time.

Sure, some relationships end over the big things so often depicted in Hollywood, but sometimes a marriage dissolves after many small-yet-irksome qualities emerge. With the film, Blue Valentine, director Derek Cianfrance seeks to display a marriage falling apart because of the little things.

Meet the Characters

Blue Valentine portrays the relationship of Dean (Ryan Gosling) and Cindy (Michelle Williams), a couple working in blue collar jobs in small-town Pennsylvania. With a young daughter named Frankie, the couple struggles with day-to-day family issues.

Photo by Davi Russo

Dropping out of high school, Dean grew up in a broken home where his mother left him during a tender age. With no desire to pursue a career, Dean provides for his family as a house painter. He works eight hours a day and spends the rest of his time enjoying his family. With a crooning voice and a love for music, Cindy believes that Dean could do much more with his life.

Cindy, on the other hand, hails from a different sort of dysfunction. Her parents, despite an obvious deterioration in their marriage, remained together for the sake of their child. As such, Cindy refuses to “stay together for the kids.”

Employed as a nurse, Cindy settled for a working-class career after marrying Dean. During college, her ambition pointed her toward medical school and private practice. Yet, unforeseen circumstances led her to settling down and beginning a family.

While Frankie spends the night with grandpa, Dean and Cindy head to a hotel for a date night with hopes of rekindling the marital flame. This night proves to be the crux of their relational issues as the night unfolds and both Dean and Cindy must deal with their problems.

Acting as Subtlety

Ultimately, Blue Valentine frighteningly depicts an unfolding relationship in realistic terms. Gosling and Williams play their parts with stunning simplicity.

The director, Derek Cianfrance, encouraged Gosling and Williams to live in a rural Pennsylvania house with their child-actor daughter to create the subtle disharmony seen on screen. In fact, Cianfrance went so far as creating off-screen fights between the two in order to make the parts as real as possible.

Cinematrographical Beauty and Realistic Dialogue

Inserted throughout the movie are scenes of Dean and Cindy’s courtship six years earlier. Shot with different film and the stars weighing fifteen pounds lighter, these happy times exhibit the stark contrast between past and present. In perhaps my favorite scene in the movie, Dean strums a ukulele and croons a mournful song as Cindy tap dances on a sidewalk in Brooklyn.

As a counterbalance to this joyous scene, we see Cindy quietly eating dinner with Dean in a hotel room. Softly she proclaims, “You had so much potential.” For her, a blue-collar husband was not her envisioned plan as she heard the melodies of a promising musician.

Interestingly, Dean retorts, “This life was not what I had planned but now that I have it, it is what I want.” In a profound way, each person is fighting against their upbringing. Cindy cowers at the thought of a lifetime with a man she does not truly love. Dean, on the other hand, fights tooth and nail against separation knowing how it personally influenced his childhood.

Just as real relationships often fall apart as time decays the foundations of a marriage, Blue Valentine seeks to display a turbulent relationship through subtlety. With beautiful production, impeccable acting, and realistic dialogue, Blue Valentine is an excellent movie. Although its realism creates a difficult viewing of the movie, its underlying themes make this movie a must see!

Album Review: Codes and Keys

Codes and Keys by Death Cab for Cutie (Atlantic Records and Barsuk Records, 2011. 45 minutes)

Formed in Bellingham, Washington under the shadow of Western Washington University, Death Cab for Cutie is Ben Gibbard (vocals, guitar, piano), Chris Walla (guitars, production, keyboards), Nick Harmer (bass), and Jason McGerr (drums). The band signed to Barsuk Records off the strength of an early demo written primarily by Ben Gibbard. On Barsuk, Death Cab released four albums to much local and critical acclaim. Transatlanticism – perhaps the most famous release from their time on the Barsuk label – launched Death Cab as an international act. In 2004, Death Cab signed a worldwide deal with Atlantic Records and soon after released Plans, an album that was critically well-received, Grammy nominated, and certified platinum. The band’s next album, Narrow Stairs, became the band’s first album to reach the top of the Billboard charts. Recently, Death Cab released Codes and Keys landing 3^rd on the Billboard Charts.

An Excursus on Stadium Rock

Warranted or not, the general expectation from a stadium-sized rock concert is energetic and danceable music. There are night and day differences between a U2 and Sarah McLachlan show. For U2, the waterfall of guitar echoes fills the stadium and supplies an infectious energy. For Sarah, her muted tones and soft, angelic voice fit better in a smaller setting.

For most rock bands, outgrowing small- and medium-sized clubs requires a reworked sound. For some bands (Muse comes to mind), the transition is remarkably easy. Other bands, however, must shift to a larger sound.

Coldplay: An Illustration

To illustrate, Coldplay offers a modern example of this shift. Outside of the single, “Yellow,” Coldplay’s first record is well-suited as background music at a small club. With intimate instrumentation and lyric-based melodies, Parachutes is a soft record.

As Coldplay grew into a worldwide phenomenon, the band’s sound grew. Recent records X&Y and Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends display a new Coldplay with densely textured instrumentation and grand sonic explorations. In short, these two records translate well in a stadium-sized concert.

The point of this short excursus is to liken Death Cab for Cutie’s current form of inconsistency to its lack of reformed sound as the band grows.

A Band Caught between Large and Small

Death Cab for Cutie made its name as a small club staple in Bellingham and Seattle. With slightly overdriven guitars, simple rhythms, and scholarly lyrics, Death Cab is tailor made for the hipster bar scene.

With success, the band has outgrown its habitat and Codes and Keys illustrates the band’s struggle with remaining true to its classic sound while trying to write big for large shows.

On the one hand, Codes and Keys finds Death Cab for Cutie remaining in similar musical textures to its origins. Chris Walla and Ben Gibbard mostly play an arpeggiated guitar with minimal strumming. Additionally, well-written lyrics remain a core strength in the band.

On the other hand, Codes and Keys finds Death Cab attempting to create a bigger sound. The production on the drums is beefy and loud. Additionally, the first single, “You Are a Tourist” finds a guitar riff drowning in high gain, as if the band knew loud riffage is a recipe for stadium rock.

At the end of the day, Death Cab is caught between who the band was and who they wish to be.

Marriage Makes a Man Happy

Lyrically, Ben Gibbard trades lugubrious stylings for sappy love songs. Clearly influenced by his marriage to indie starling, Zooey Deschanel, Gibbard sings in "Monday Morning,"

“She may be young but she only likes old things / And modern music it ain’t to her tastes / She loves the natural light / Captured in black and white.”

Despite Gibbard’s refusal to write from depths of sorrow, the lyrics in Codes and Keys are not 100 percent sap. In the title track, Gibbard opines,

“But the codes and keys / They can’t protect you from the pangs of jealousy / And when you scream / Love you seem / Like a child throwing stones at the sky / But when they fall back to earth / As minor chords of major works / In separate rooms, a single life / We are one, we are alive!”

With a keen sense of simile and illustrative words, Gibbard’s lyrics still anchor the band.

Sadly, Codes and Keys represents another effort in a transitional period for Death Cab for Cutie. No longer a band confined to small clubs, the band’s intimate indie rock does not translate well to arena shows. While the band recognizes the need for change, they have yet to successfully implement it in the studio. Thus, if you like the sound of pre-major label Death Cab, I think this album will not grace your “best of” list. If you are a fan of stadium rock, I doubt this record will resonate. However, if you are a fan of good lyrics, you might enjoy this record.