Melancholy ‘Measure’; Growlers touch greatness

Full Measure

T. Jefferson Parker

St. Martin’s Press; 276 pages

The day I finished reading T. Jefferson Parker’s “Full Measure,” the Los Angeles Times published a lengthy story about the psychological state of Adam Lanza, the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooter. No doubt you’ve read similar articles on murder-suicides in the past. Each case has its own details, but it always seems to boil down to a basic portrait — one of cripplingly low self-image, coupled with access to guns and a dogged belief that things will not get better in the future.

“Full Measure,” the latest novel from the prolific Orange County author, is about a man who fits that portrait and clearly has murder in him. Whether he commits it, or how or against whom, I will not say — except to note that, when “Full Measure” finally reaches its climax, you are likely to be blindsided. You may also be thankful for your ability to live in your own skin: Life could be better, you could earn more money or win more acclaim, but when this morning rolled around, you perked up enough to head to your job and anticipate tomorrow.

“Full Measure” comes billed as Parker’s first mainstream literary novel after his successful crime titles. It may not be that much of a departure — crime plays a key role in the story — but it works as a character study first and a thriller second. Parker, a former Daily Pilot reporter, sets his action in Fallbrook, where avocado farms hold generations of family history, ethnic tension simmers in pockets, and Camp Pendleton looms as an icon of heroism and purpose.

Into this setting returns Patrick Norris, an Afghanistan veteran who has lived his entire life as the more mature, responsible son of an avocado grower smarting from the effects of an arson fire that ravaged his groves. Patrick, who finds himself longing for the intensity of combat (in Parker’s phrase, he misses the “mattering” of every moment), dreams of buying a boat and starting over as a fisherman, but he quickly realizes that his father has pegged him as the family business’ future.

An even more vexing problem is his older brother, Ted, who works as a taxi driver, lives on the farm and seems trapped in a state between childlike wonder and simmering rage at the world — in particular, Fallbrook Mayor Evelyn Anders, his former babysitter and unrequited crush and now a symbol of the “nanny state” that he rails against. In an inspired metaphor, Ted has suffered from weak feet since birth, and his sense of inadequacy, on the farm and elsewhere, nags him increasingly.

Such men can easily turn into pawns of the more powerful, and Ted finds himself under the spell of Cade Magnus, a white supremacist who runs a local auto shop and urges Ted to channel his resentment after a mugging. Parker paints Magnus as an appropriate combination of coward and rabble-rouser (note his sinister use of the word “breed” in one line), and the story’s payoff provides a clue as to which side Ted ultimately sees.

“Full Measure” is a gripping and insightful novel, immersing us in the lives of several people and making us understand their hopes and disappointments. The sentence that may best summarize its message comes from Patrick, in a conversation about his tour of duty: “I think the good wars come to you.” There are no good wars, of course, but if they come to us, we can clear ourselves partly of blame. The ones that come from us may be the hardest to win.

—Michael Miller

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Chinese Fountain

The Growlers

Everloving Records, 11-track LP

As a kid visiting Asian supermarkets in San Gabriel, I would hear calming yet catchy Vietnamese, Chinese or Japanese songs being played over the building’s sound system.

Being Filipino, I didn’t understand the lyrics, but what stuck with me was the instrumentation, which sounded like a fusion of bossa nova, disco, funk and pop music. Somehow, the indie rock band the Growlers managed to capture this sound on its fifth studio album, “Chinese Fountain.”

The Growlers, a Costa Mesa-based five-piece, are mainly known for their unique blend of surf, pop and psychedelic rock, which they’ve dubbed “beach goth.” Imagine light, airy and bright guitar riffs blended with dark, moody lyrics about your world falling apart if you lost your friends or couldn’t tell if someone really loves you. Their latest LP still has all these elements but incorporates the 99 Ranch Market grooves, and it sounds fantastic.

The track “Black Memories” is the first great example of this quirky sound. It has a calming, down-tempo pace, and the guitars have this bright, surfy tone. My favorite part of the song is the chorus, where the band incorporates castanets, which for some reason puts a smile on my face. However, that smile gets wiped away when I start paying attention to the lyrics, which are about someone breaking your heart.

The funk and disco elements get turned up to 11 on the title track. I could imagine myself dancing to this song as I strolled around Chinatown in downtown Los Angeles. The bass, drums and keyboard parts are incredibly catchy and somehow work well with the dreary-tone vocals of Brooks Nielsen.

Almost every song on the album incorporates some of that Asian flair, but most aren’t as intense as “Chinese Fountain.” “Good Advice” is a pretty straightforward psychedelic rock song with a chorus that angsty teens can relate to: “There’s nothing as depressing as good advice / Nobody wants to hear how to live their life.”

While most of the tracks on the LP have depressing messages, “Going Gets Tough” is uplifting as a reminder that although someone may feel inundated with money problems, dedication and hard work will pay off in the end. The vocals are accompanied by a soothing, almost carefree ska vibe.

I found myself listening to the album over and over, and every time I took “Chinese Fountain” out for a spin, the more I appreciated the subtleties of each song. The pace, the tone and, yes, the lyrics make for a very cohesive and enjoyable listening experience. All of the songs can stand on their own, but put them together and you have a solid LP from The Growlers.

— Anthony Clark Carpio