It was a revolt against the revolting: Punk rock arose in the mid ’70s because we were up to our waders in soggy Pop Lite singer-songwriterdom — Seals & Crofts, America, Bread, et al. Thirty years later, everything old is new again, and unfortunately, Pop Lite is back too — legions of fey strummers ‘n’ twangers who probe for deep meaning amid the vanilla swirl of their midday latte’s nondairy creamer.
On paper, Dolorean might seem to fit this have-a-nice-day bill: sweetly murmuring melodies, unhurried rhythms, breathless vocals and a general vibe of restraint. But in execution, Dolorean’s fourth album is anything but restrained. An undercurrent of Nebraska-like desperation fuels these songs about disintegrating relationships and dashed hopes, with even the cheeriest sound seemingly uttered through gritted teeth. The lovely, pirouetting mandolin and piano motif of “Heather Remind Me How This Ends” can’t obscure how, though it’s a clear day outside, “I’ve got storm clouds in my mind.” And while the title track is aglow with surging organ and “ooh-ooh” gospel harmony vocals, it’s offset by singer Al James’ relentless insistence, over and over, that “you can’t win.”
Yet this is not a depressing album. In the end, the tension between lyrical brooding and musical reverie yields a near-cinematic catharsis. You Can’t Win is inspiring because it so perfectly mirrors the human condition: constantly beset, but ready to fight back. Come to think of it, that’s downright punk in attitude.