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Josh Rouse Subtitulo Nettwerk Records

      I’ve rewritten this review countless times, but no matter how often I do, I can’t seem to avoid centering it around the standard so-and-so sounds like so-and-so meets so-and-so template. They say it’s a sign of weakness; the last refuge of the poor, uninspired record reviewer. And how can you argue with that? It seems as if every third review you read these days is little more than a list of influences and similar artists, an attempt to boil an album down to its essence without having to offer any actual insights into the music.

      But what then, to do with an album like Subtitulo? The sixth record from singer-songwriter Josh Rouse, it is not an especially original album. It is not revolutionary, nor is it divinely inspired. Many of the songs sound familiar the first time you hear them. His influences are obvious. One listen to his warm folk tunes and up-tempo piano-pop and you know that Mr. Rouse is a fan of Carol King and Norah Jones. Of John Mayer and Stevie Wonder. Your mind fills with imaginary fields of blossoming Venn Diagrams . . .

. . . and the mathematical equations of melody . . .

. . . and you know that the degree to which you enjoy his music is inescapably linked to the pre-formed opinions you hold of the artists from which he draws his influences. You know, without having to stop and think about it, that Subtitulo will fail to appeal to even the most folk-loving indie fans. That Rouse is not for those whose hearts belong to the encyclopedic sprawl of Sufjan Stevens or the raw intimacy of Iron & Wine. No, this is music for fans of bands that get played on the radio, with their glossy production sheen and easy melodies.

      And maybe the reason you think this way, and the music critics think this way, isn’t due to any lack of insight, but because so much music these days is little more than a collection of influences. That there is, more than ever, an endless supply of perfectly competent songs that are not so much inspired-by, but cobbled-together-from other songs and artists. Maybe that’s why they fail to inspire anything in others; because they themselves lack that spark. Maybe they’re just Frankenstein monsters stitched together from the recycled scraps of pop music history, dressed up in fancy modern clothes and forced to sing and dance, entertaining us but adding nothing new or valuable to our lives. Maybe nothing can be original any more. Maybe everything’s been said. Maybe this is the end of history.

Or maybe it's just you.

-Adam Bunch 10/25/06