I have always loved Ben Gibbard. The first time I heard “Soul Meets Body” on the radio (this is when I still listened to the radio), I immediately bought Plans from the iTunes store (this is when I still bought music off iTunes). The entire album was striking. I loved the grandiose feel, and the echoing emotion that underscored each track. Within a week, I had three more Death Cab for Cutie albums: Something About Airplanes, We Have the Facts and We’re Voting Yes, and Transatlanticism. I loved them all. They are songs that break down life into its components; they show the juxtaposition of sorrow and joy, hope and melancholy, love and loss. That is why it is so easy to connect to the music – Ben Gibbard is a human amplifier of the emotions that we all attempt to suppress.

Plans is the most commercially successful of Gibbard’s efforts. It sees Death Cab expanding and mellowing their sound, resulting in a much higher level of popular appeal. “Marching Bands of Manhattan” is a thunderous opening rife with figurative imagery.

” Sorrow drips into your heart through a pinhole
Just like a faucet that leaks and there is comfort in the sound
But while you debate half empty or half full
It slowly rises, your love is going to drown”

I love Plans, I really do, but I really get the sense that it was purposefully created for a mainstream audience. The overall quality of the album suffers slightly as a result. But a few songs stand out, including the minimalist masterpiece “I Will Follow You into the Dark,” and the sonorous “Different Names for the Same Thing,” which would not feel out of place on one of Death Cab’s earlier albums.

Before there was Plans, there was Transatlanticism. I consider this album to be absolutely epic, in all senses of the word. Its sound is large, and grand, yet it does not overpower the delicate simplicity of Gibbard’s vocals. From his earnest lips fall sentiments anyone can to relate to. I connect most to “The New Year,” a powerful anthem about personal expectations.

” So this is the new year
And I have no resolution
For self-assigned penance
For problems with easy solutions…

I wish the world was flat like the old days
Then I could travel just by folding a map
No more airplanes, or speedtrains, or freeways
There’d be no distance that can hold us back.”

Transatlanticism is like a secret journal, discovered years after transcription, under a four-poster bed in an abandoned apartment. Each song is an entry in this journal – “Lightness,” a quiet admission of lust; “Title and Registration,” the unintentional release of long-forgotten memories; “We Looked Like Giants,” an emotionally charged affair; and “Tiny Vessels,” guilt over empty promises which were made to be broken.

This journal-esque feel is accentuated by the continuity and flow of the album as a whole. One song parlays into the next effortlessly, and each track transition is like the turn of a page. And as we delve into each paragraph, line, and word, we find more parallels for our own lives. Transatlanticism is the perfect example of Gibbard’s sage grasp of human emotion and complication.

The Photo Album is a study in contrasts. For every uptempo track, there is an equal and opposite low-key anthem. For each mumbled poetic line, there is a rebellious shout. We even see two rare instances of full-on Gibbard rage, in the LA-bashing “Why You’d Want to Live Here” and the deeply personal “Styrofoam Plates.”

Musically, what is most apparent is the stronger piano/keyboard presence. Even on modern, uptempo songs like “Information Travels Faster” the piano can be clearly identified. The slightly different instrumentation perfectly complements Gibbard’s vocals.

Some of Gibbard’s most eloquent lyrics can be found on The Photo Album. Rather than appealing to a more romantic point of view as he usually does, he targets a more world-worn audience: those who have experienced heartbreak, disenchantment, and disappointment. But in the classic Gibbard style, the listener is left with a sense of hope rather than the weight of despair.

“I was in a corner booth thinking
(Pretending to read)
About the impossibility of one to love unconditionally
And the words that we drive into the ground
Their repetition starts to thin their meaning

Then everything got frighteningly still
As they entered and intersected the floor
And I tried to choke my stare
At the perfection that others would kill for
But all of the parts are the same on every face
(Few variables change)
The differences pale when compared
To the similarity they share

Finally there is clarity and there is purpose after all
But every night ends the same
As I’m collapsing once more by your side
Finally there is clarity: this tiny life is making sense
And every drop numbs the both of us
But I alone am staggering…”

Whenever I listen to The Photo Album, good memories materialize. For a long time in my life, it was the only CD I kept in my car. Ben Gibbard became a part of my daily routine. I think of heady summers spent on downtown streets, black nights with bright stars all around, and moments spent alone in thought.

I hold We Have the Facts and We’re Voting Yes (2000) close to my heart. It is by far my favorite Death Cab album. Ben Gibbard truly outdid himself; with this collection of echoing, poetic pop songs he firmly cemented his status as one of our generation’s most brilliant songwriters. Not a single song falls flat or fails to impart its meaning. The simply named “Title Track,” a song full of stunning metaphor, speaks to me. It is the tale of Gibbard’s strange relationship with an ex-lover, a writer, whom he meets again at a party and finds irresistibly magnetic. They talk of old times, and smoke together, as Gibbard fights idealistic thoughts of a future that cannot be. And despite his apprehensions, he gives in to the urges of his foolish heart.

“Left uninspired by the crust of railroad earth
That touched the lead to the pages of your manuscript
I took my thumb off the concrete and saved up all my strength
To hammer pillars for a picket fence
It wasn’t quite what is seemed: a lack of pleasantries
(My able body isn’t what it used to be)
I must admit I was charmed by your advances
Your advantage left me helplessly into you

Talking how the group had begun to splinter
And I could taste your lipstick on the filter

I tried my best to keep my distance from your dress
But call-response overturns convictions every time.
My memory cannot recall: a wave of alcohol,
We shared a cigarette and shaved the hours off

Lushing with hallway congregation
My best judgment signed its resignation.

I rushed this, we moved too fast
And tripped into the guest room.”

My other favorites include “Company Calls Epilogue” (from which this entry draws its name), “The Employment Pages,” and “Scientist Studies.” I cannot resist posting the following lyrics, merely because they are so strikingly gorgeous.

“What ghosts exist behind these attic walls?
There’s got to be a simpler explanation
Because I scrimped and I saved
Just to find that they’ve been splicing my inventions…
Cold skin and bones at this latitude
We aren’t paying until the heat comes through…
So you slept in a stocking cap and wool scarf.

Promises of payments were
Upon your shoulders constantly
But don’t forget to entertain us
Because this is your first defense

A four-year offense to the devoted type
I may have got an invitation, but I wasn’t invited
But I thought that this meant something more
Than broken hearts and new addictions…
We’ll leave our sins within the carpet twine
Our bodies will dissolve the chemicals in due time

Promises of payments were
Upon your shoulders constantly
But don’t forget to entertain
Because this is your first defense

This is my last defense.”

Death Cab for Cutie is not Ben Gibbard’s only project. He and Jimmy Tamborello (Dntel) collaborated as The Postal Service, releasing the full-length masterpiece Give Up and several EPs. Give Up is simply gorgeous; it mixes synth and samples with Gibbard’s unique vocal stylings. Many of the songs, such as “Clark Gable” and “Brand New Colony” are so lyrically complex that it is astounding. This is Gibbard’s genius displayed at its fullest, unfettered by bandmates or a pre-existing image.

” I’ll be the grapes fermented,
Bottled and served with the table set
In my finest suit, like a perfect gentleman.

I’ll be the fire escape
That’s bolted to the ancient brick,
Where you will sit and contemplate your day

I’ll be the waterwings
That save you if you start drowning
In an open tab when your judgement’s on the brink.

I’ll be the phonograph
That plays your favorite albums back
As you’re lying there, drifting off to sleep.

I’ll be the platform shoes
And undo what heredity’s done to you,
You won’t have to strain to look into my eyes.

I’ll be your winter coat,
Buttoned and zipped straight to the throat
With the collar up so you won’t catch cold.

I want to take you far
From the cynics in this town
And kiss you on the mouth
We’ll cut our bodies free
From the tethers of this scene
Start a brand new colony
Where everything will change
We’ll give ourselves new names
(Identities erased)
The sun will heat the ground
Under our bare feet
In this brand new colony

Everything will change.”

This entry has already expanded into a dissertation of sorts… I won’t get any deeper into the brilliance of Ben Gibbard, which I believe to be limitless. He, and the music he has created, have become a tangible part of my life and of many others like me. Without Ben, life just wouldn’t be the same.

Please comment on this entry extensive ramble and tell me what YOUR favorite Ben Gibbard moments are… I would love to hear your thoughts, readers. Tell me how Ben has affected you, or how his songs have been prominent in your life.

” I’ll write you a song
And it won’t be hard to sing
It will be a natural anthem
Familiar it may seem
It will rally all the workers
On strike for better pay
And it’s chorus will resound
And boost morale thoughout the day

I’ll write you a song
And I hope that you won’t mind
Because all the names and places
I have taken from real life
So please don’t get upset
At this portrait that I paint
It may be a little biased
But at least I spelled your name right . . .”