Preston School of Industry
Monsoon
Matador

"Sure, I was a little apprehensive going solo," Scott "Spiral Stairs" Kannberg told Pulse! in 2001. "I spent 10 years with Pavement, but I was mostly in the background. To go out on my own took time."

The operative phrase is in the background. "Steve did a lot," said Kannberg, the lesser-known of Pavement's founders. "But I felt like my contributions were just as good. When you're in the studio, to be told by everyone that you don't want to do my songs, it kinda throws you for a loop, you know? I had four or five songs; they were unfinished, but that's how we always did records." Kannberg has now released a second album of originals, Monsoon, under the moniker Preston School of Industry. PSoI's first release, 2001's All This Sounds Gas, was populated by songs Kannberg claims were rejected during Pavement's Terror Twilight sessions. (It's been widely reported that Terror Twilight, Pavement's swan song, is essentially a Stephen Malkmus solo album in disguise.)

Likely as not, when an artist steps out of the shadows of his or her band and goes solo, the output will have vigor. The artist may have something to prove, a backlog of unproduced songs he or she is dying to release, a newfound sense of freedom that he or she is aching to share with the fans, etc. Many musicians have left influential bands and done quite well on their own. That said, the bargain bins are littered with the output of all the rest who relished the prospect of musical autonomy but discovered they were much more effective in supporting roles. Consider the following:

Tanya Donelly. Donelly, 35, has been in the business for 19 years, and was a founding member of three major bands: Throwing Muses, the Breeders and Belly. She dissolved Belly in order to pursue a solo career, and has released two albums since 1997, Lovesongs for Underdogs and 2002's Beautysleep. Both received decent reviews. Quick, hum something from either of them.

David Gahan. This is the man who brought a bit of depth and drama to techno-pop vocal work. Depeche Mode benefitted greatly when Gahan, 41, was behind the mic. Regardless of what impact Gahan might have added to the band's sound, Martin Gore was the songwriter. Gore delivered the songs "Just Can't Get Enough" and "Personal Jesus"; Gahan, the synth-pop Sinatra, interpreted them. Paper Monsters, Gahan's 2003 release of original material, makes it clear that, while he can provide atmospherics as shadowy as his vocals, he can't craft memorable songs.

Jay Bennett. If you saw the documentary I Am Trying to Break Your Heart, then you no doubt cringed while Bennett got himself in Wilco's doghouse (Jeff Tweedy's doghouse, that is). It was no surprise when the band jettisoned him. Nor was it startling to see him release an album so soon after, either. Palace at 4 a.m., recorded with Edward Burch, came out in 2002. The surprise was that, notwithstanding that album's rich and textured production (which revealed that Bennett had much influence over the development of Wilco's sound), the melodies were limp and Bennett couldn't sing.

The George Harrison Law of Diminishing Returns states that the second album released by an artist after leaving his or her influential band is make-or-break. Ryan Adams learned that lesson with Gold; after the "New York, New York" resonance drifted away, the album was revealed for what it was: half-baked roots rock 'n' roll. Frank Black, on the other hand, had no such problem with the masterful Teenager of the Year. Similarly, Monsoon is an opportunity for PSoI to set down roots in the alternative rock field.

Kannberg, though, doesn't have it in him. Monsoon is an album without a Big Idea. Instead, there are half-considered melodies, vague nods to alt-country and a general cheerlessness that often makes listening a chore. "Walk of a Gurl," the opening track, sets up obstacles Kannberg cannot overcome — laconic vocals, meandering verses and guitar work that is pleasant but never invigorating. Even the presence of Wilco on "Get Your Crayons Out!" — and the attendant promise of some bizarre Yankee Hotel Foxtrot-type noodling — doesn't add up to much. "Line it Up" is the album's strongest track; in its production, ragged lead guitar work, and Kannberg's (comparatively) gruff delivery, it hews closest to the Pavement formula.

The fact is, Kannberg is the sort of artist who can benefit from sharing songwriting duties and production vision with someone else. Say, a very kind and generous Malkmus. Or Jay Bennett. Or Tanya Donelly. Someone to breathe a little fire into his music — much as Gahan added considerable dynamism to Martin Gore's dark pop — and contribute their own music to counterbalance his, which is too balsa-wood light to stand alone. Kannberg doesn't turn out trash, but his music simply isn't engaging. Monsoon seems to evaporate as you're listening to it.

— Christopher Hickman (hickatz at mindspring dot com)