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**Game Theory - Lolita Nation**
★★★★☆

In the grand pantheon of lost American indie treasures, few albums cast as long a shadow while remaining as criminally overlooked as Game Theory's sprawling 1987 opus, Lolita Nation. Like discovering a dog-eared copy of a brilliant novel in a charity shop, this double album represents one of those serendipitous musical accidents that shouldn't work but absolutely does – a kitchen-sink masterpiece that throws every idea at the wall and watches most of them stick with surprising grace.

Scott Miller's Game Theory had already established themselves as purveyors of literate, jangly pop perfection with previous efforts like Real Nighttime, but Lolita Nation found the Davis, California quartet in full experimental mode. The album emerged from a period of creative restlessness, with Miller reportedly stockpiling songs and growing increasingly frustrated with the limitations of the traditional album format. His solution? Throw caution to the wind and create a maximalist statement that would either cement their reputation or sink them entirely.

Musically, Lolita Nation exists in that sweet spot where college rock meets art-pop ambition, filtered through Miller's distinctly Californian sensibility. The album's 77-minute runtime allows Game Theory to explore every corner of their sound – from the chiming Rickenbacker-driven anthems that made their reputation to experimental interludes that feel like fever dreams. It's the sound of a band refusing to be pigeonholed, creating something that sits comfortably alongside contemporaries like R.E.M. and The dB's while carving out entirely its own territory.

The album's opening salvo, "Erica's Word," immediately signals intent with its cascading guitars and Miller's characteristically cryptic wordplay. It's followed by the sublime "I've Tried Subtlety," a mission statement disguised as a love song that perfectly encapsulates Miller's approach – why hint when you can paint in bold strokes? The track showcases the band's ability to marry pop sensibilities with genuine emotional complexity, a skill that runs throughout the album's best moments.

"Where You Going Northern?" stands as perhaps the album's finest achievement, a seven-minute epic that builds from gentle acoustic beginnings to a soaring, almost orchestral climax. Miller's vocals, always his secret weapon, convey a sense of yearning that's both specific and universal. Meanwhile, "24" demonstrates the band's more experimental side, its fractured structure and layered production pointing toward alternative rock's future while remaining firmly rooted in the mid-80s indie underground.

The album's centrepiece, "I Mean It," arrives like a perfectly crafted three-minute pop song that could have been a radio hit in a more just world. Its infectious melody and sing-along chorus provide necessary breathing space in an album that can sometimes feel overwhelming in its scope and ambition. Similarly, "We Love You Carol and Alison" offers a more straightforward rocker that showcases the band's tighter, more focused side.

Not everything works – at 77 minutes, even the most devoted listener might find their attention wandering during some of the album's more indulgent passages. Tracks like "Dripping Faucet" feel more like experiments than fully realized songs, though even these moments contribute to the album's overall sense of creative fearlessness.

The production, handled by Miller himself along with Mitch Easter (who'd worked similar magic with R.E.M.), strikes an impressive balance between clarity and chaos. The album sounds both intimate and expansive, capturing the band's live energy while allowing space for the subtle details that reward repeated listening.

Lolita Nation's commercial failure was perhaps inevitable – double albums by cult indie bands rarely trouble the charts – but its influence has proven more enduring than its sales figures might suggest. The album anticipated many of the developments that would define alternative rock in the 1990s, from its genre-blending approach to its refusal to compromise artistic vision for commercial appeal.

Today, Lolita Nation stands as a testament to the power of creative ambition over commercial calculation. While Scott Miller's tragic death in 2013 ended any hope of a Game Theory reunion, this album remains his most complete artistic statement – a sprawling, sometimes frustrating, ultimately rewarding journey through one man's musical imagination. For those willing to invest the time, Lolita Nation offers rewards that few albums can match, a reminder that sometimes the best art comes from refusing to know when to stop.