It’s always a challenge to give power pop a fresh coat of paint – the sound of crunchy and jangly guitars, big hooks, and clever lyrics may be timeless, but it can sound pretty hidebound after decades of use. Not in the hands of singer/songwriter/guitarist/bassist Ward White, however. The Los Angeleno may draw from tradition, but he doesn’t stick to it – instead he gives his wry tunes an arty spin that far more Sparks than Badfinger, more Bowie than Beatles. White’s eleventh LP Here Comes the Dowsers presents a set of characters – oddballs, whiners, egomaniacs, romantics – as anecdotes in an imaginary sequel to Hollywood Babylon, finding the connective tissue between them all. In “Cliffhanger,” a fading actor grabs the spotlight via an interview, but walks a fine line between pathetic with a purpose, and just pathetic. The crunchy “Blimp Street” puts a band of Hollywood flashes through their paces, with their hapless protagonist admitting “the rest is something we borrowed from SF Sorrow.” The heartless director refusing to cast “Johnny Fontane” seems impervious to pleas of “Give me a part in your picture,” but thanks to White’s winsome melody you can’t help but feel pity for the old fool. The cinematic “Our Town” throws a harsh light on the rotten core of Hollywood, with its denizens desperately admitting “Who wants to live in our town/What sucker wants to put his roots down?” As cutting as it all is, though, White’s tunes deliberately soften the blow. Melodies both melancholy (“Horse Opera”) and sparkling (the title track) might even make you feel sorry for the creeps inhabiting these tracks – they’re following orders just as often as their underlings. It takes a truly special auteur to make you feel for the bad guys, and Here Come the Dowsers! proves White to be that.
