MAGNET review of Isolation Drills

MAGNET
Eric T Miller
April/May 2001 Issue 49

Guided By Voices
Isolation Drills
TVT

Pain, they say, makes for great art. If this is true, it might explain why Isolation Drills, Guided By Voices' 12th proper album, is one of the bands best. Written and recorded while Robert Pollard was separating from his wife of more than 20 years, these 16 songs form a sketchbook betraying his sadness and loneliness. From his crumbling marriage ("the Brides Have Hit Glass", "Fine To See You") to his search for spiritual comfort ("Twilight Campfighter"), Pollard's prose leaves little room for misinterpretation. "How's My Drinking?" - which the band (augmented by Elliot Smith on organ and ex-GBV member Tobin Sprout on piano) takes at a slow deliberate pace - is positively chilling, the lyrics ("I don't care about being sober.....I won't change") dissolving into a wordless melody that's gradually swallowed by the swelling instruments. While the album's overall mood is decidedly dark, the ultra-poppy anthem "Glad Girls" might be the catchiest song Pollard gas ever written, and the ball-out "Want One?" could've been penned by Pete Townshend 30 years ago. Talk about your guitar heroes: Doug Gillard crams melodies into tight spaces, soloing on rockers "Skills Like This" and "Pivotal Film" and highlighting the bittersweet "Campfighter" with tasteful flourishes. While 1999's Do The Collapse was criticized by some for its thick, pop-radio gloss, Isolation Drills (recorded with Beck/Foo Fighters studio whiz Rob Schnapf) shows more restraint, reconciling Pollard's idiosyncrasies with a track to track consistency great rock records demand.

MAGNET phoned Pollard at his new apartment for what turned out to be a surprisingly personal conversation.

Magnet: This is unquestionably your most personal
record ever.

Pollard: It is. I've gone through so many changes in
my life within the last year. So many things have
happened, probably because we toured so much, more so
than ever before. We've kind of been isolated by the
fact that we've toured so much. A lot of shit has
happened to us -- not only to me, but everybody in the
band.

M: Listening to some of the lyrics, it's like reading
your diary of personal letters. Is it hard to stick
all that out there?

RP: No. I think sadness creates good records. I think
when you're in a sad, melancholy state of mind, you
write good songs. You write personal songs. The songs
are kind of about escape, remedying the fact that
you're on your own or that you feel alone.

M: Are you worried what people will think?

RP: No. I still make records for myself. A little bit
more, I make records because we have such a strong fan
base; I have them in mind, too. I think they'd like to
know about what's going on in my life. This album
reflects that. The songs are about drinking and taking
drugs and womanizing -- that kind of shit. The songs
are about sin, basically, and being out there in the
absence of everything -- the energy of the universe or
go or whatever. There are some positive songs on the
record that offer a glimmer of hope. I don't want
anyone to worry I'm going to commit suicide; I'm fine.
There are some happy songs on the record. It's not Lou
Reed's Berlin.

M: What the album title says to me is you feel alone,
and these drills are what you do because you feel
alone.

RP: The drills part means what you do to remedy the
feeling of loneliness. What you do is you surround
yourself with friends, you drink, you check out women.
I know some people who have gone through problems in
their lives who just sit in their apartment and, and
all they do is brood. I don't think that helps.

M: Did you feel that because you were on the road so
much that you had two realities: your life with your
wife and kids at home and then one on tour?

RP: Yeah, totally. In the beginning, it was too much
for me. I didn't like touring because I was away from
my family and friends, and I just wanted to get home.
I was homesick. Then I got to the point where I
enjoyed it. Over the years when you tour, you
accumulate a group of friends in every city; you look
forward to seeing them. You kind of have a family
every place you go.

M: If you could go back to the time before (1993's)
Vampire on Titus, when you were going to break up the
band, would you? Or are you glad all the GBV stuff
happened and you ended up where you are now?

RP: I'm not glad it all happened. I'm glad I'm able to
do music and stay creative and was afforded the
opportunity to do Guided by Voices. I feel like that's
what I was supposed to be doing; like it's my calling
or something. I'm not glad I'm now with my family
anymore. I still see them. You never know what's going
to happen in the future. This whole year I've been in
and out of the house, back and forth -- that's what's
maddening and frustrating. I just want things to
settle. I want everyone to be happy and I want to
remain friends. I don't want to cause any hard
feelings. I guess I wish I could have my cake and it
eat it, too.

M: I guess one good thing about your current situation
is that you have more time for to work on music.

RP: Yeah. I've got an apartment by myself. I like
being alone. I miss being at home, but this apartment
looks like my office. I've got my records and my
stereo, my table with everything on it. I don't have
to clean up after myself. I think that helps the
creative process. I'm constantly working now. I don't
have to take a break to go have lunch or coach or
watch a sporting event -- I can just do whatever I
want. That may sound selfish, but I'm not being
selfish -- I'm just saying it helps.