While the album's philosophy is an integral part of its success and woven into the music, and packaging is undoubtedly personal (wax seal, unique piece of photograph as gift), still Tracks is not giving anything personal away with the liners. In terms of vision Everything Judged by Success Alone is about as close as possible to a one man vision of Godspeed You Black Emperor as anyone's likely to be able to conjure up.
Creating a minimalist reduction of GYBE's almost-orchestral widescreeners, Tracks manage to create just as internalised a vocabulary through instrumentals and obscure vocal samples. This album's worldview is just as (if not more) bleak than that collective's ideas. The borrowed narrator on "Starts with Cans" starts with a sad sinking story and then plummets into alcoholism, the post-rock strum plays an ideal balance and backing. When near the song's end a sound emerges that could either be guitar work or a passing train horn, the attention is so deep in the narrator's world that there is no way of telling. Much of the album follows this stripped sepia guitar setting, simple patterns with minimal effects and some field recordings keeping everything intimately close at hand.
Feeling like a single lonely ride, "Everything Judged by Success Alone," Tracks slowly begins to flesh out the second half of the LP. The slowly building "B Flat, D Flat, A Flat, C" pushing the meter into the red of eroding emotional control, the song's sharp notes tempering the content from the cold. There is percussive stringplay on "Special Powers," beating a tattoo below sinister samples, the additional elements never infecting the atmosphere. The only time Tracks fails to hit the target is on "Snowstorm into Blood Spattered Sheets" (superb title though) where a traditional band format recording feels imposed. Feeling like a totally different band, the mood is splintered but it is still not enough to even dent this record.
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