Plastic Guitar is the umpteenth album by Sacramento/Oxford-based singer/songwriter ANTON BARBEAU. For those who’ve followed the impish psych popster over the course of his career, it’ll be no surprise that this is a strong record. Barbeau is one of those rare artists who seem incapable of failure; between his melodic superpowers and penchant for oddball (but rarely weird for weird’s sake) arrangements, Barbeau’s music is unfailingly interesting. Of course, listeners with a low threshold for lyrical playfulness might be put off by silly songs like “Raino Disco (‘Bout the Raino,)” “Quorn Fingers” and “Bending Like a Spoon,” but they shouldn’t dismiss him because of a sense of childlike whimsy. (Besides, Barbeau records are like LOUD FAMILY albums – it’s just not the same without the screwing around between more conventional songs.) Like spiritual compatriots ROBYN HITCHCOCK, SCOTT MILLER or – yes, I’ll say it – SYD BARRETT, Barbeau hides his feelings behind wordplay, but he’s perfectly capable of lucid emotional moments. If anything, Plastic Guitar contains some of his most naked work – the marriage of melody and feeling on “I Used to Say Your Name,” “Doctor Take Care” and “Boat Called Home” is what the phrase “music with heart” is all about. Even the remake of his old tune “Banana Song,” while eye-rolling on the surface, has a desperate undercurrent that lifts it beyond mere novelty status. Barbeau is in full command of his considerable powers here, making Plastic Guitar one of the brightest highlights in a shiny catalog.
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