or better or worse, we here at Stylus, in all of our autocratic consumer-crit greed, are slaves to timeliness. A record over six months old is often discarded, deemed too old for publication, a relic in the internet age. That's why each week at Stylus, one writer takes a look at an album with the benefit of time. Whether it has been unjustly ignored, unfairly lauded, or misunderstood in some fundamental way, we aim with On Second Thought to provide a fresh look at albums that need it.

Why is it that so many young men claim to have been so badly damaged by women that they feel the need to document it for the entire world to hear? And then why do another group of young men come along to pay to revel in another man’s insecurities? What is it about the better smelling sex that makes them seemingly devoted to getting inside men’s heads and hearts and punching their way out Alien style leaving a bloodied, twitching husk? Would it be worthwhile for acoustic troubadours of the break-ups to take notes from someone like Too $hort? He never seems to be down in the dumps with lady trouble: he doesn’t give a fuck about a bitch.

There’s an argument that there is solace to be found in hearing that someone else has gone through similar hard times and can turn it into something other than a self-pitying, soul baring session of self-punishment. A substitute sympathy (albeit from your hi-fi system) with someone vocalising what you can't or won't say aloud. Everyone reflects on their experiences to help them make new decisions, but the process of this is generally inward, not recorded or sold as entertainment. And, by the perpetually down circle jerking and blogging miserablists that tend to find solace in sort of music, the Red House Painters have come to be known as principal providers. As such, the traditional line on this LP goes something like this: young man carrying his mental/emotional damage and anguish as a defining characteristic of his being. The prominent mind state of Rollercoaster (its unofficial official title) is frequently summed up in its most commonly quoted line ‘bruised internally…eternally’. And, of course, there’s the inference that by choosing to listen to this that the listener will be looking for a cheerless experience trawling through someone’s inadequacies and heartbreak, leaving them dejected and depressed.

But Rollercoaster isn’t a fatiguing ordeal and it doesn’t wear you down (which isn’t to say it’s not emotionally involving); Kozelek’s thoughts and narratives are totally believable and obviously heartfelt, but I don’t feel like he’s hanging onto his battered electric guitar and tear splattered pedal rack haranguing me about his ex- lovers, begging me to see it his way. There’s a certain detachment and distance here, in spite of the deeply personal nature of the contents—in his somewhat languid vocals reinforced by the paced delivery and definitive slowcore strum. This private commentary on his feelings, best heard on top of the vaguely mediaeval pluckings and flourishes of “Down Through”, doesn’t invoke evoke any embarrassment at overhearing his private thoughts. Kozelek manages to involve and interest without making you feel like you have to be miserable listening to him .

Rollercoaster starts perkily enough with “Grace Cathedral Park” but LP soon descends into slower tempos and elongated song structures. The obvious lack of choruses on some songs doesn’t divert the mind from the fact that this is still strongly melodic. “Katy Song” chimes out for a further three minutes after the song has really finished with a ‘la, la la la’ coda building layer by layer. The main purpose of Rollercoaster seems to be to purge himself of the narrative, “Things Mean a Lot” being the LPs ode to moving on. Retaining a layered demo feel, the skeletal instrumentation is cloaked in reverb, as are the dislocated vocals and the presentation of the songs is at its strongest when its stripped right back; the band version of “Mistress” is a fuzzy rehearsal room rocker—like Bryan Adams mixed by a cough syruped up Kevin Shields whilst the piano version leads the song back down to the cold empty room sound. Interestingly the lyrics diverge slightly as the band version claims ‘I’ve had enough of these brutal beatings and name callings’ whilst the piano version goes ‘I want a piece of these brutal beatings and name calling’; masochism, exaggeration, stupidity, devotion?

If you are going to use music to help you get through then, by all means, wallow in it, and use the time to lose some weight or spurt your wild oats, but don’t let it grind you down. When Kozelek asks his ex-to ‘Set free this soul of mine’, you know that he has to do it himself.