Steve Goldberg and the Arch Enemies

To fans of a certain brand of winsome indie pop, the name Allen Clapp is nearly sacrosanct: Clapp's brand of sweet and sour lyrics, impossibly catchy tunes, chirpy vocals, and extravagant arrangements, under his own name and as the leader of the Orange Peels is the ne plus ultra of American twee pop. That is, until Steve Goldberg and the Archenemies. This full-length debut by Pittsburgh-based singer/songwriter Steve Goldberg out-Clapps Clapp with an exhilarating blast of sunshine pop melodies, clever (occasionally clever-clever) and sweetly romantic lyrics, wonderfully over the top arrangements featuring perfectly deployed strings, horns, glockenspiels, and woodwinds, and an almost palpable love of all the classic '60s and '70s AM pop hits that never turns into mere mimicry. (OK, almost never: the chorus melody of the album's most intoxicating tune, the glorious new-love stunner "Julia" comes uncannily close to that of the Carpenters' "Top of the World" at one point.) Those allergic to wide-eyed playfulness will find the whole thing impossibly cute, but like Clapp, Goldberg is such a sharp, inventive songwriter that songs like the tongue-in-cheek pastiche "The Spy" and its wistful ballad doppelganger "The Spy, Pt. 2" are more than the sum of their influences. Steve Goldberg and the Archenemies could likely end up one of the great lost pure pop records of 2007. - Allmusic Guide

In college my senior thesis was on Coleridge’s Kubla Khan and the function of mystery and consciousness in poetic verse. Ambitious enough, I suppose, but looking back, if I had wanted a higher grade than the D+ I got, I probably should have:

A. Actually read Kubla Khan.
B. Backed off the vodka and Oreos.

So I was disorganized and lazy—what college student isn’t? Uh…Steve Goldberg. Not lazy at all, this kid. In fact, Goldberg started writing songs as soon as he got to college, perfected his craft enough to play live while studying abroad in England and then came home and laid down ten tracks for his Senior project. And yes, he got an A. Bristling with preternatural pop smarts, ambitious arrangements and lyrical proclivities that would suggest a man who’s been at this for years, Goldberg’s debut is a colossal and important find. Combining the lyrical naïveté of Jonathan Richman (“She makes a fine fondue/A savory steak au jus”) and the pop immediacy of everyone from The Monkees to the iconoclastic indie outfit Bikeride, Goldberg is at once both a good study and a true innovator. Part travelogue, part romantic chronicle, Goldberg’s debut perfectly captures the earnest aspirations of youth where everything seems not only possible, but immediately attainable, provided one is willing to take a leap or two. Impossibly catchy, “The Road” comes across like a cartoon version of “Born To Run” (“You and me in the Cadillac/A stack of old yellow paperbacks/Two hearts that melt just like candlewax”); “February Third” sounds like The Hollies and Barenaked Ladies at a swap meet and the textured “23rd Century Identity Crisis” is a rushing pop gem. Goldberg’s humor is mixed perfectly with sincerity and nowhere is this more apparent than on “Julia,” a ballad that comes with all of the poetic precision of Paul Simon. Although on the surface Goldberg appears to be messing around as he implores his muse to play D&D and “watch The Goonies on VHS,” it’s actually here that he’s at his most sincere. “Julia,” he later sings, “I ain’t foolin’ ya/I’m low on stamina/So give me a sign.” It’s an unflinching moment and one that’s not to be taken lightly: his humor is fading without an indication that she’s on board. Elsewhere, “The Spy (Part 1)” is a somehow sugary cloak and dagger number, while “Summer’s Ending” is a wistful meditation that’s as much about the end of a season as it is the end of a relationship. Sonically refreshing and loaded with the kind of narrative velocity that makes critics rush for the word “timeless,” Goldberg’s seemingly endless charm might very well single-handedly revitalize indie pop. - Caught in the Carousel

No matter what happens to Steve Goldberg in his musical career, he can certainly be proud of one thing: This eponymous album with his band, the Arch Enemies, is possibly the most elaborate, orchestrated indie-pop effort Pittsburgh has ever produced.

Just take a gander at the instrumentation: Every possible symphonic instrument appears in the mix (as well as marimba, harpsichord, synths and some samples from a sound-effects library), ably played by Goldberg’s cronies at Carnegie Mellon, where this record was produced as his senior music project. And the result is no syrupy, adult-contemporary mess, but rather a tight, coherent suite of hyper-literate ditties with nods to Sufjan Stevens, Jeff Mangum and Stephen Merritt. For those not clued in to indie rock, I’ll make it easy for you: The Beatles and XTC.

On the one hand, there’s songs like “The Battle of Agincourt,” in which Goldberg imagines himself a futile Quixote-like knight-in-armor, bringing to mind the florid prose of the Decemberists. And then there’s the kind of eyebrow-raising wit that generates lines like “Julia, you’ve got a lovely uvula,” from my fave “Julia,” which pours on the glockenspiel, lush strings and cooey backing vocals. “Artichokes,” which borders on the nerdy archness of They Might Be Giants, includes the lines, “She’s got a way with crème brûlée / Her bouillabaisse comes to my aid.”

There isn’t anyone with a decent education to whom I can’t see this record appealing, whether it’s the bookish, poetry-scribbling high school waif in the flowery dress, or the middle-aged audiophile with his stack of Wilco and Paul Simon discs. So find this obscure pop gem before Goldberg abandons his adopted city forever. Much like Pittsburgh’s hordes of erudite, ambitious college graduates seeking greener pastures, Goldberg’s clearly stated his intentions in the song “February Third”: “I’m getting out while I’m still young.” - Pittsburgh City Paper

STEVE GOLDBERG'S LONDON FRIENDS didn't really like him much. Except maybe the tuba guy -- though Goldberg paid him. The others: They just wanted Goldberg to go out drinking. And he did some; when you're young and studying abroad, it's mandatory you ingest some of the local culture. But more often than not, Goldberg would stay locked in his room, writing songs. He would spend days scratching out dense pieces of pop -- stuff so covered in orchestration, Sufjan Stevens would get nervous (there are only so many rock glockenspiel players, after all). Goldberg's friends would egg him on; he'd always say no.

"I'd always joked with them that they wouldn't even remember what they did last night and I'd still be playing these songs a year from now -- and I am," he says.

In fact, most of the songs that came out of Goldberg's six-month stint in London became the basis for his full-length debut. He came back home to Pittsburgh, pitched the England tracks to his college advisors as a senior project and then was given the keys to the school recording studio. He stayed in there for a year. He wrote out even more elaborate arrangements, and tapped friends to come play on the disc. "I had a whole school of musicians to pull from," he says. "There really wasn't anything I couldn't do."

He's not kidding. By the time he handed in the finished disc -- titled Steve Goldberg and the Arch Enemies, to honor all those who played on the disc -- Goldberg hadn't just come up with a simple senior project. He'd written a dissertation on the history of pop, presented in perfect three- and four-minute chapters. He slides easily between the Beach Boys' California and Sufjan's Illinois. He even tries his hand at a two-part pop epic , "The Spy," the first installment written from the viewpoint of an agent on the run in East Berlin and the second about the woman that spy left behind. At times he's blatant about his point, like on "The Road," where Goldberg methodically dissects British Invasion pop, exposing every "oh" and "ah" and four part harmony. There's even some George Martin-inspired strings to complete the sound. Others, like "February Third," are subtler: a Clash reference in the clack of the guitar, something vaguely Costello in melody, gypsy folk hissing out of the fiddle. There's even the Bach-biting "Julia," a love song that splices chamber quartet arrangements and harpsichord flourishes with strictly modern geek references to wooing a girl by playing Dungeons and Dragons. It's hilarious, sweet, and stunningly elaborate.

Not surprisingly, he got an A.

"I just figured I could be that guy who plays guitar and sings or I could push myself to do more," Goldberg says. "I studied composition and orchestration. I have that classical background. Why not try to build something out of that? It's fun to see how that stuff takes shape."

Of course, finding a group to reproduce all that intense orchestration hasn't been easy. While recording the album Goldberg would often set up gigs, never knowing exactly who would join him on stage. One night he might have a flutist and a cello player, the next a drummer and the aforementioned tuba guy. "I always joked that if you put together all the people who I've played with over the years I'd have a 40-person orchestra," he chuckles.

Since turning in the project, though, Goldberg has managed to put together a permanent version of The Arch Enemies, including bassist Donald Norman, a pro poker player that lives in Henderson. And while that live show isn't as elaborate as the album -- "How could it be?" Goldberg jokes -- he is happy he finally gets to go outside.

"I don't have to hide in my room anymore," he says. "I can finally get out and do what I want to do and hopefully have people into what I play. I think that makes everything I've been through more than worth it." - Las Vegas Citylife