Time to make 'Plans'

The indie scene will never tire of calling sellout to any band that bucks the hipster sensibility and makes a move designed to generate financial success. Why this is the case I’ll never understand, as it seems like music-obsessed scene nerds would want their idols to be as financially successful as possible, because hey – more time to make music, right? I don’t know about you, but I’d much prefer to see my favorite singers spend their time singing rather than waiting tables.

Now, Ben Gibbard hasn’t worked a straight job in a long time, but music snobs everywhere have been poo-pooing his work with increasing fervor since the only modestly successful Photo Album. Death Cab’s newest disk is its first on a major label and follows a truckload of mainstream exposure courtesy of indie-yuppie guilty pleasure The O.C., so the horn-rimmed glasses crew are doing their best to sneer and snark through the release.

And for once, they’re almost right. Despite the band’s website promise that the only thing that would change with their new label is the logo appearing on the back of the packaging, the group has clearly mellowed out its sound, caressing their already wussified sonics into a glazed-over, super processed frosted layer of aural syrup. Death Cab has never been edgy, but on Plans, the group’s filed down its blandness until it’s as soft as a cushion.

But strangely – and wonderfully – the essence of the band’s appeal remains. Gibbard’s voice is still silky smooth, drifting airily over small but strong melodies that never fail to command your attention. Every song has a dreamy, weightless quality that Gibbard and co. seem to be able to create simply by breathing. Effortless and breezily graceful, it’s so easygoing that you have to try to dislike it.

Fortunately, that’s why we have Pitchfork.

UPDATE: The commenters on Stereogum are also too cool.