The parallels are obvious. While the album's lyrics examine the love affair, the music explains the musical relationship. The band is like the marriage--quiet and unspectacular, but also complex and engrossing. Their subtle communication on stage is echoed in Ira's whispered confessional to Georgia on "The Crying of Lot G": "If you're in a bad mood I look at you and I think/Maybe she knows something I don't know. Maybe I should be upset."
After all these years, they're still trying to understand each other better. That's what keeps a relationship going through the years, and that's what keeps Yo La Tengo interesting. Ten albums in, and we're still falling in love with them.
Evan Sult: Wiggle your way back into that warm wet spot between your body and your mind, put your ear to the wall of the womb--Yo La Tengo have moved their entire operation in under the skin. From here on in, these songs are recordings of you, drowsy in love, deep in amnio-erotic dream fluid.
And then nothing turned itself inside-out is the gooey plasma from which music is made; it's the primal material, the raw liquid stuff that becomes a beat, a note, a melody, a song.
Sshh. Don't wake up, don't take the headphones off; stew in the juices, watch the music throwing shadows on the wall, coloring photographs of favorite parties.
Barbara Mitchell: I'll confess to having much trepidation about the new Yo La Tengo album. It's not that I don't like the band; it's just that my peers go into superlative overload every time their name comes up. For me, they're fine, pleasant, interesting. Whatever. To be honest, I had the CD for weeks before I got around to listening to it. But what can I say? If I had put And then nothing turned itself inside-out in my stereo weeks ago, I wouldn't have gotten any work done, because I wouldn't have listened to anything else. It's a charmer. In fact, it's all of the things that make indie pop good--pleasant melodies, dreamy vocals, nifty guitar work--plus the one ingredient that turns that mix into something great: heart. There's less noise and more atmospherics; more subtlety and less palpable tension. Remarkably, the result is infinitely more affecting than their previous albums. Like a good wine--or in this case, a good marriage--it just gets better, richer, and more complex with time.
Paula Gilovich: Yo La Tengo are faith restored; their anti-cynicism relieves you like a good cry. They are completely dedicated to full-breadth orchestration. The best songs on this album are tinted with the ghosts of African music, country lullabies, and Sonic Youth. My favorites are all of them. One of the most frequently used instruments on all their albums is restraint. So deeply felt, this album is an immediate and precious security blanket. And even though by now Yo La Tengo are a permanent sound in your mind, this album is one of their best.
Erin Franzman: Yo La Tengo only have themselves to compete with, which is both to their credit and detriment. And then nothing turned itself inside-out is a fine album, sublime at times, but it's also exactly the album you would expect Yo La Tengo to make. And while that's not inherently a criticism, I mean it to be, here. Because while I enjoy listening to the CD, I'm disappointed in it at the same time. Their last effort, I Can Hear the Heart Beating as One, was a departure for them, and it was still breathtaking. They popped their bubble and made a record that sounded different without sucking, and opened our eyes to their capabilities: Yo La Tengo can do anything. But And then nothing... is the safe, cozy, logical progression from Electr-O-Pura, in classic YLT style. Having proved they could do anything, they went back to doing their thing. They're phoning it in, but a band that can phone in an album as technically and emotionally resonant as And then nothing... is still doing something right.
