ome people go through their lives with a one-track mind. They are workers, or spouses, curmudgeons, derelicts, or hopeless romantics. Day in, day out, they stumble through life and fill these roles with gusto. John Vanderslice, on the other hand, is a major player in all facets of life. Time Travel is Lonely, his second full length, finds the buttery glass-voiced indie prankster exploring isolation, Antarctica, time travel, and a bevy of other things through swirling, jagged guitars, hit-in-the-gut melodies, and a sincerity not found on most other albums dealing with isolation, Antarctica, time travel, and a bevy of other things.


Meet John V., history teacher. “Do you remember the man standing/in front of the tanks that rolled down Tieneman’s Square/he just stood there/I heard the Red Guard went door to door and found him hiding under the floorboards/they yanked him out/shot him twice in the head/no, no, no, he was never caught/they smuggled him out to America/he doesn’t want to talk about it/he’s got a new name/he lives in Maclean, Virginia.” “Do You Remember” is a debatable yarn, at best, but compelling nonetheless---it’s hard to disagree with percussion so rousing.


Doubt the historical merits? Then say hello to John V., IT help desk consultant. “Listen, wear your headphones/and I’ll whisper you the code/for a helper application/that you can download,” he wails on the title track. Step back from the fact that the words “helper application” and “download” appear in a song, and let it instead be a useful commodity. Would the folks at the Compaq help desk ever sing to you? Friggin unlikely. So let the man help you with your application. Won’t you let the man help you with your application?


Or maybe teach your pre-school children. Let existential John V. teach your pre-school children. “Little fly your summers play/my thoughtless hand has brushed away and/ended your days/am I not a fly like you/are you not a man like me/oh I dance and drink and sing/until some hand tears off my wing.” The bouncy piano will surely teach your children about flies.


It’s difficult to really understand what’s going on in Vandy’s mind, but that’s what makes this, and most things he’s put his odd touch on, so fascinating. He walks the fine line between Neutral Milk Hotel and insanity, a line thinner than dental floss to begin with. His lyrics are abstract, his delivery emphatic, his voice just on the pleasant side of grating. And it works so well together because underneath the thick layer of dementia that coats his music in a playful gloss is a firm pop sensibility that spews melodies like real crazies spew drool. The man knows a hook and they are hanging everywhere on this brilliantly quirky album.


Meet John V., wearer of many hats. All of which seem to fit quite nicely.