No need to get into the whole Sebadoh thing right now, because the band seems to be on hiatus while its key members focus on other pursuits. For Jason Loewenstein, that means his first solo album. For Lou Barlow, it means his nine jillionth (give or take), entitled Free Sentridoh Songs from Loobiecore--a self-released disc of sketches, fragments, and lo-fi songs that only feel unofficial if you aren't attuned to Barlow's style. On tour, Barlow is performing mostly solo, and if you've never seen him like this, you should.

After the last couple "official" Barlow-related releases, Sebadoh's The Sebadoh and Folk Implosion's One Part Lullaby, it became easy to presume that Lou had left his four-track behind forever. The albums were smooth, slick, and strong in a way that none of either band's previous material had been, and aside from two songs on each LP, both releases left me cold. This got me thinking about the idea of outgrowing bands, and the idea of bands outgrowing themselves. Sebadoh is so directly linked to my heart-swollen youth that hearing the songs now only reminds me of what a wretch I once was. Barlow's emotional honesty and lyrical guitar playing were so directly linked to what I was feeling that I assumed the songs were written not only for me and about me, but very likely by me in some kind of multiple personality schism I wasn't yet aware of. I have long since emerged from this perma-fugue. I wonder if Barlow has, too.

This is purest speculation, but he seems to be in a state of transition as a songwriter--the Loobiecore songs hark back to early Sebadoh work in a big way--looking for a middle road between the brilliantly articulated confessionalism of his younger days and the emotional maturity of a man who is no longer young, keeping the sense of humor and melodicism that he's never gotten full credit for. I don't know where this transition will take him, and I don't know what his next batch of songs will be like. But I will always love to hear him sing.