The Form Fits Their Own Mold

[this article was originally published June 26th, 2010 for Examiner.com] 

The Form’s appropriate and hardline categorization as a “jam band” could likely put off a few people curious about their debut album Smalltown. Generally, since smoking pot remains a legally frowned upon pastime, the bulk of the music consuming population tends to steer clear of any song that requires an attention span of more than four minutes - at most. It doesn’t matter how well composed the songs are, how detailed the musicianship or how unique it is in comparison to anything else - the fact remains that the average music consumer’s interest starts to wander around the five minute mark... unless they're high.

Granted, there are bands whose audiences do not shy away from lengthy running times - though there is no conclusive evidence their attention spans aren't being aided by anything.  Dave Matthews Band and Phish, for example, are groups that managed to achieve both popular critical and commercial success despite their notoriously long song interpretations.  While they are an exception to the general rule that "jam bands" are a hard sell from a marketing perspective, they prove it isn't impossible to make the style conventionally consumable - and quite frankly, it should be done more often. The Form, even with several songs passing the six to seven minute mark, is a band equally deserving of such treatment.

The group’s Smalltown album is an exceptional and brave effort. The first track, “Lost” slams right into gear, busting out of the gates with an instant demonstration of talent for song writing more detailed than what the status quo would require. It grabs and holds so fast and hard, one is eager to memorize the lyrics immediately, because to not be able to sing along to it would be a personal disappointment. The sleek melding of the keys and the technical guitar work lock together with lead singer James McMahon’s velvety octaves like a dream. His voice seamlessly glides among the music with the combined perfection of his obvious ability, his grasp of melody and engineer Brandon Mason’s superb studio production.

There is no shortage, actually, of standout tracks on the album with just as much integrity. “Day”’s hopping piano work and nonintrusive, but no less essential, percussion hit the sweet spot from start to finish. It’s a song that doesn’t let up, and the short guitar interlude at about three minutes and forty-eight seconds in just begs to be isolated and replayed repetitively. The song finishes like a feather floating down in slow motion, the percussion subsides, the piano unrolls and that guitar makes a soft, smooth landing. It is arguably one of the best finishes to any song in recorded history. “Captain Stems” is another gem - a solid nod so hard to Steely Dan, it threatens to snap the neck, and makes Fagen and Becker look like pretenders to their own throne.

One of the few shortcomings of Smalltown, though, is the slight tendency toward excessive repetition. It’s expected, in a “jam band-esque” composition, that there are going to be extended bass guitar and drum solos (which are usually the serial murderers of attention spans in lengthy numbers, as few people take much pleasure in listening to a bassist and a drummer dance alone together for too long), but thankfully, there isn’t any of that. Where the problem lies is in the recital of some of the lyrical refrains. It doesn’t occur often, but there are a few tracks (like “Time Away”) that push the envelope a little too hard in that respect. Interestingly enough, the song is one the shorter tracks on the CD!

Another small weakness in the album is the inclusion of the songs “Smalltown Midwestern Girl”, “65 Run” and “Papa Bear”. They are in glaring contrast to the others, as they detour into a more cliché and somewhat irritating “rock-country” sound. Minus these, the album would contain only eight tracks, however, so one is inclined to think they might have been added as space-filler, maybe? Regardless, they clearly send up the “which of these things doesn’t belong?” rhetoric, and unfortunately leave a blemish on what would otherwise be a wholly perfect collection.

Ultimately, The Form stands alone and holds its own among its peers. They’re a group that, for the most part, would appeal to a more particular taste, and a more discerning audience. They demonstrate the sort of intricacy made necessary by their own will, with a bevy of instrumentation for an ensemble of only five members. Everything is present and effective - from the standard guitar, bass and drums, on up to the more detailing elements of piano, harmonica, trumpet and organ. With a band in possession of a talent this versatile and progressive, The Form can only fit one mold - but the paradox is that mold is their own!