Robert Pollard can’t have much to prove. Perhaps the first “ex-indie rock frontman” since Morrissey whose name doesn’t require such an epitaph to be recognized, the former Ohio schoolteacher has done alright for himself through Guided By Voices’ twenty-year career. Following his decision to call that band quits, GBV’s departure earned a teary-eyed send-off from no more stoic a hipster rag than Pitchfork. Hitting the studio almost immediately thereafter, Pollard has released a few sort-of solo albums since 2004, and escaped with his reputation intact.

All this sets the stage for some expectations about his first double album. Applying the standard “solo record” line of thought, you’d come up with something like this: freed from any substantive obligation its creator might have felt to his critics or historians, From a Compound Eye should be free to explore Bob Pollard’s collected musical ideas previously shuttered up within the Guided By Voices marquee. You’d think, in other words, there would be less Guided By Voices, more Bob Pollard.

But you’d be misunderstanding. There never was a Guided By Voices – at least not enough of one to show through on the bands’ records. Sure, plenty of bands churned through auxiliary members during their lifetimes; none did it as consistently or as masterfully as Mr. Pollard. King Shit, as it were, didn’t need the Golden Boys after all.

You can imagine why this reviewer might think, then, that he was listening to Half Smiles of the Decomposed, Part Two. Though Pollard’s released a few albums since GBV’s 2004 breakup (what, you expected some time off?), From a Compound Eye picks up right where the band’s last album left off. Indie aspirants who’ve only heard of Guided By Voices as a progenitor of hissing, modern lo-fi, reacquaint yourselves: a lot has happened in the past ten years.

For starters, the songs have lengthened. Seriously. Maybe Pollard’s showing his age, but spreading the album’s twenty-six tracks over seventy minutes is practically Townshendian when compared to his earlier offerings. Fortunately, they’re memorable songs. “Gold” washes the album in with sedate vocals and a tremolo guitar. Either “Field Jacket Blues” or “Dancing Girls and Dancing Men” would have near-insurmountable status as the album’s lead single if they weren’t followed by so many other catchy tunes.

This parade of hooks and riffs, nevertheless, doesn’t feel like enough anymore. Given his fecundity, Robert Pollard has always danced near to the edge of creative burnout. Though his output remains gloriously unattenuated even these days, I’m afraid to report a more tragic weariness on my own part. Certainly, the guy can write a charming pop melody, and has been manufacturing them for the last twenty years, but from this point forward it’s going to take more to charm me. I guess I’m just sick of Robert Pollard.

Nothing on this album breaks new ground; a casual listen establishes that. It’s the way From a Compound Eye fails to strike off for the unknown that frustrates me so much. “The U.S. Mustard Company” is fine, sure, but its riff was better used in “Chasing Heather Crazy” five years earlier. Even when Pollard dips back into his four-track roots on “The Right Thing,” it sounds more like a throwaway early-nineties era GBV pastiche than a serious contender for the Track 5 position (even Pollard doesn’t believe in his erstwhile, tinny roots enough these days to keep the track from ending in a glorious bloom of production values).

It seems that, more than anything, we’re dealing with indie rock’s Paul McCartney. Loved the original act, mate; really, I did. But now you’re off on your own, and your prolific songwriting is turning into a liability. Your ability to manufacture hooks is rapidly turning into a parlor trick, and not a memorable one.

Normally, I’d be more forgiving. Isn’t a cautious retread of earlier material par for the first-solo-release course? Well, yeah. For another record, I might simply conclude that fans of the original band will be heartened to have one last token to remember it by, while newcomers should look elsewhere. With From a Compound Eye, though, I can’t say that — I was that fan, and I’m feeling profoundly disheartened.

Reviewed by Dan Ray