Review: Cryptomnesia by El Grupo Nuevo de Omar Rodriguez Lopez

So Cryptomnesia is the result of a collaboration between members of Latin-prog rock band The Mars Volta and speedy, math rock duo Hella. At the forefront of the project is composer/guitarist Omar Rodriguez Lopez of TMV, who has made a name for himself in both his prolific output (releasing about four albums a year), and his wild, freak-out guitar playing and arrangements. Being a fan of both bands, I was more than delighted to hear about this unlikely combination of musical madmen. Zach Hill, one of my favorite musicians/artists in recent times, was going to be manning the drums, so I was looking forward to this one.

First things first–this is a fairly strange record, so for those who fear the experimental, you probably shouldn’t bother with this one. For those who love prog, continue reading. Cryptomnesia is not neccesarilly an inviting record, as you might assume by taking a glimpse at the song titles, but repeated listening certainly helps.

The combination of Omar’s abrasive guitar melodies, singer Cedric Bixler Zavala’s trademark, high-pitched belting, and Zach Hill’s bludgeoning drum insanity alone–it all comes together to make an arguably over-indulgent brew of the musically (and lyrically) absurd that’s hard to overlook. The opening track best sums up the odd chemistry these guys have, almost unsettling in how much the rhythmic intensity contrasts to Cedric’s creepy falsetto. This one, in particular, carries a sense of tension, both musically and sonically. That could have something to do with the fact that the vocal track was recorded a full 2 years after the intrumental tracks. Why? I have no idea. “Oh, we recorded the music back in 1991 and Cedric is going to be tracking the vocals in 2017″ (note the sarcastic mocking) No, in all seriousness, I do appreciate Omar’s work, despite his nutty scheduling.

 Following the crazed opener is ”Half Kleptos”, which is, believe it or not, almost catchy. The song is built around a risque lyrical refrain that complements the band’s peculiar, grooving rhythms (note some of the cool variations Hill makes in his backing groove at the beginning). This one is likely the closest to “accessible” the band comes on this record.

The few instrumental piecess are exceptional. “They’re Coming to Get You Barbara” (isn’t that a reference to Night of the Living Dead or one of those Dead movies? I think it is…maybe it isn’t…wait…no…ok, it is) finds the band flailing away on their instruments to a pulsating, zombie-like motif, surrounded by dissonant soloing and psychedelic waves of guitar-generated noise, driving the already-dense rhythm tracks into sonic overload. Highlighting the instrumental prowess that lies within the rhythm section, this piece is essential listening, especially for fans of Hill’s drum wizardry.

In my opinion, a lot of Omar’s side projects tend to border on the predictable, but what makes Cryptomnesia an exciting listen is its unique structure and arrangements. Larger songs are broken up into shorter fragments and scattered throughout, often resulting in recurring themes and passages that give the record an odd sense of continuity. There’s two tracks entitled “Puny Humans” and “Shake is for 8th Graders”, which are both parts of a larger composition, interspersed with random, almost inside-joke like samples and dialogue. I must say, this section of the record sounds the most like a combination of TMV and Hella, a selection that essentially hybridizes the progressive psychedelia of the Volta with the frantic time signatures of the latter to make a familiar but still fresh blast of energy. Then of course, there’s “Noir” which distinguishes itself from the others by mesmerizing the listener with its slow, gloomy haze before, out of nowhere, exploding into a mishmash of harsh, tritone-soloing and oppressively fast drum blasts, both totally disrupting the pace of the song and scaring the listener half to death. It’s great!

Overall, I think Cryptomnesia is a great effort, but it does occasionally suffer froms its self-indulgent tendencies. It’s a must for fans of either band or for those who simply search for monster musicianship and interesting song structures in a pool of mainstream monotony. If your still unsure as to whether or not you should give this one a try, listen to the track “Warren Oates”, which is stripped of the avant stylings and simply delivers the highspeed interplay that makes this assembly of weirdos worthwhile in the first place.

Attention WordPress Users!

Are you seeing that guy with the mustache EVERY SINGLE TIME you log in? Isn’t that mildly annoying? WHO IS HE?? I’ve never really bothered reading the story that accompanies that one frickin’ picture but it must be pretty damn important. The one time I tried clicking on the link, it completely froze my computer. How dare he! In my efforts to blog whenever I get the chance for my Journalism class, I’ve logged onto this site quite a bit and everytime, without fail, that mustachioed demon is there, on the home page, staring into my soul! I’m fairly new to WordPress.com so fill me in if he is of some sort of authority around here. I suppose I didn’t need to make a blog out of this but it’s been bothering me, gosh darnit. Godspeed!

The Vaguely Enticing Cheesiness of Protest the Hero

Over the years, I have accumalated a list of bands that I’d like to eloquently deem “guilty-pleasure listening”. These are the bands that are usually tied with a genre and an image that I particularly detest but also have certain elements that nonetheless tickle my fancy. Canadian prog-metallers Protest the Hero are no different.

These guys walk the fine line between butt-puckeringly cheesy and undeniably clever like no other Canadian band has done before…well maybe Rush. I hate having to make superficial comparisons but for those who’ve never heard these guys, they kinda sound like a cross between Dragonforce and Mr. Bungle, if that makes any sense. The band is comprised of two speedy guitarists, a hardcore-style drummer, a suprisingly intense bassist (very important), and a singer who tends to oversing but redeems himself with occasionally schizoid vocal techniques. They’re all excellent musicians but believe me, they can be very annoying.

Their latest effort Fortress, released early last year, is fairly easy to pan as a self-indulgent mess of guitar gymnastics and mindless prog  lyrics, but at the same time, it seems like they have something that most of their boneheaded genre-mates don’t. These guys do have a tendency to show off,  but there are multiple passages on the record that reveal both interesting ideas and harmonies as well as a well-balanced use of their techinical proficiency. Between the cheesy power-metal passages are dissonant turns and run-offs that transform the songs into manic, zig-zag puzzles. For example, within the first minute of the song “Spoils”, the rhythm section breaks into a dizzying drum and bass blast of discordant tapping, lasting for seconds before ending on a tritone and returning to the song’s normal tempo. There’s also “Wretch”, which is strikingly innovative in its breakdown, where the band’s palm-muted fury is broken up by meows from a cat in the studio. Little things like that. The rest of the record sucks…no, I kid. Not to mention, they also have some decent song-writing ideas, particularly clear within the less cluttered segments. They have melodicism and they don’t blindly follow the verse/chorus/verse format, but they don’t execute their ideas in a very palatable format, in my opinion.

I feel that Protest the Hero are obviously more than capable but they should eventually drop the power-metal antics that otherwise deem them “guilty-pleasure listening” for me. They’ve already improved a lot since their debut album Kezia, which I didn’t care for at all. If they cut down on some of the boring blast-beats, shredding arpeggios, arena rock falsettos, and occasionally irritating lyrics, they’d seriously be on to something. I think that their interesting songwriting sensibilties and ideas are weighed down by the heavy prog-core (or whatever the hell you call it) factor. However, one thing that’s great about these guys is that they actually have a sense of humour (yeah, that’s right, I spelt humor with a U and I’m not even British. How you like me now?!), an element seemingly nonexistent in the overly large world of hard/math/metal/core/core. Even though I personally hate these guys just as much as I enjoy them, I think they are certainly worth listening to, for those who are interested.

Review: Hypermagic Mountain by Lightning Bolt

Boy, this one’s weird. Hypermagic Mountain (2005) is both an excellent introductory record to the demented music of Lightning Bolt and the whole math/noise rock genre. In essence, it’s an hour-long blast of feedback-ridden, banjo-bass tappery, off-the-wall drums, and barely audible, telephone vocals drenched in effects. It really helps to see the band playing live before listening to this one, or any of their discography for that matter. Bassist Brian Gibson stands in the corner, nonchalantly shooting beams of tuneful noise out his bass and toward the audience, deafening them for life. To the side of him is drummer Brian Chippendale (two Brians!), who sports a giant, sock-like mask that holds a phone-receiver in his face as he bludgeons the crap out of his drumset. On top of this, he shouts undecipherable psychobabble through an overdriven amp. The audience will never hear again.

It’s hard to imagine that all these vivacious layers of noise are coming from just drums and bass. It just goes to show you what a couple pedals and a little creativity can do. The album opens with “2Morrow Morow Land”, a cacaphonous, groove-fest (did I just say groove-fest? Wow, I’m a hipster) that drags the listener face-first into the chaotic abyss, like a giant battle-pit full of noisy chickens! You know, they all just peck around and stuff. Boo! The duo have a clear chemistry that’s immediately recognizable upon first listen, especially when they effortlessly lock in on the really difficult sections.

Hypermagic Mountain is filled to the brim with noisy gems that pulsate with a rhythmic intensity that’s uniquely their own. There’s “Magic Mountain”, where the two steadily engage in a lengthy, chromatic climb before erupting into a blasting freak-out of technical, metallic frenzy and returning to the climbing buildup again. Then there’s the album’s centerpiece “Dead Cowboy”, a massive, thrashy kaleidoscope of a jam that turns in all the right directions, with drummer Chippendale spouting politically-fired lyrics in the background, an unusual element for Lightning Bolt. “Bizarro Zarro Land”, is likely the band’s most complex piece, beginning with a Van Halen-like tapping motif (performed on bass) and flying fastly through intricate, mathy lock-in riffing and spastic, synth-laden drumming onslaughts. On another note, these guys seem to have some fascination with bicycles, evident in the subsequent track “Bizarro Bike”, a weird, wiggly little ditty, and various other Bolt compositions with Bike-related themes.

What seperates Lightning Bolt from most other bands in the genre is their ability to hold back and groove rather than making EVERYTHING as a complicated as humanly possible. Listen to the track ”Riffwraiths” and you’ll know what I mean. The band hang on a simple, driving hodgepodge of a riff with a few tonal modulations, resulting in a piece just as enticing as the other, more intricately-woven selections on the album. The band have an incredibly impressive dynamic range for a duo and Hypermagic Mountain best represents all that they’re capable of.

Review: Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart

As of recently, I have actually been using this blogspace for a Journalism project in which we have to attain as many views as possible–we’re supposed to “Get Famous”. A friend told me that I’m not going to get any views if I review albums like Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band’s Trout Mask Replica (1969). Although he is probably right, I don’t care–I must write about it. It’s another one of my favorite albums of all time.

I believe I’ve mentioned Captain Beefheart before in my crappy review of Frank Zappa’s album Hot Rats–he was an extraordinary blues singer who was, at this time, becoming a bit strange in his musical stylings (Zappa actually produced this one too). Trout Mask Replica stands out as both the Captain’s masterpiece and the ultimate summation of his avant-garde side. Even though I think everybody should listen to this record, in actuality, it really isn’t for everyone. For those who’ve never heard of this album: it is NOT your typical 60’s rock album. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

To the average listener, the album is merely a 75-minute whirlwind of discordant guitars banging against eachother, bass that does anything but hold down the bottom, spastic, cardboard-muted drums, and horns blaring out of tune, all led by the Captain himself, hollering completely out of sync with the music. “This is awful!”, your friend will say. “They’re just playing everything at random!” “This isn’t music!” These are some likely responses you’ll get by sampling Trout Mask Replica to your friend. I actually know somebody who almost lost a friend over this album. Don’tcha wanna listen to it now?!

BUT…to the more open-minded listener, Trout Mask Replica isn’t neccesarilly the migraine-inducer that everyone makes it out to be. It’s a one-of-a-kind work of art that’s both masterfully constructed and performed as well as authentically genius in it’s surrealist nature and humor. It’s quite unlike anything else. Furthermore, one thing should be cleared up–this album wasn’t improvised on the spot. It was all carefully written out by the Captain with the assistance of Magic Band drummer Drumbo (yes, surprisingly all the band members go by strange aliases, like Zoot Horn Rollo and Rocket Morton). Sure, the songs do sound absurdly spontaneous in their fall-down-stairs-like rhythms but the scary thing is, this band would play these songs exactly the same in a live situation. These guys practiced the hell out of this material for roughly eight months in a secluded, warehouse-like practice space. This is really some intense stuff.

It’s hard to pick out highlights from this album because all the main songs, being admittedly similar in style, all come together to form one giant, wonderfully ugly unit. There’s the opening track ”Frownland”, which almost sounds somewhat accessible for the first five-seconds before the Captain rolls in on vocals and the song quickly descends into organized chaos. All the instruments begin playing to completely different beats, thus setting the tone for the album. Upon first listen, you might think it sounds like crap but listen to it again and you’ll slowly begin to realize the crazy thing–IT ALL MAKES SENSE. Then there’s the glorious weirdness of “Neon Meate Dream of a Octafish” and “Hobo Chang Ba”, where the Captain’s surrealist tirades are hard not to enjoy, leading the instrumentation through the plethora of discord with the determination of a weathered pirate. These compositions are all tied together nicely with the Captain’s few spoken word pieces that are both humorous and artistically impressive  in their own way.

And in all seriousness, these are actually catchy songs too. Keeping in mind that this isn’t just random banging, the more you listen to this album, repeated musical figures become both clear and familiar and you slowly find yourself becoming more and more attached to the bizarro racket emanating from the speakers. I loved this record immediately, probably because I just dig weird music. Having listened to Trout Mask Replica numerous times,  I believe you can judge anybody’s taste in music pretty accurately by their reaction to this record. You’ll most likely hate it at first but listen again…and again, and again, and again. You’d be surprised–you could easily go from despising this record to hailing it as the greatest record of all time. It’s the magic of Captain Beefheart!

Epic Bliss: Electric Avenue 45 vinyl for 50 cents

I am one of many record dorks across the Valley who, given enough time, will investigate every nearby record store far and wide, often in search for the most peculiar (and what some might consider terrible) recordings I can possibly find. Last time I visited local Dynamite Records, I was mildly pleased by discovering a beautiful, purple 45 single of Prince’s Purple Rain–an astounding find. I had also picked up Journey’s “Who’s Crying Now?” alongside two Loverboy singles–bear in mind that these are roughly 50 cents each, I’m not that much of a lunatic. I brought both to school one day–I’m pretty sure Journey now hangs on one of the lockers for all to see and my friend snapped one of the Loverboy singles in half. Simply devastating!

Nonetheless, my trip to Dynamite Records this weekend was an ultimate success. Upon five minutes of foraging through the isles of decreprit 80’s singles that have likely sat in the tepid basement of the place for years (that was a long sentence), I discovered two (yes, two!) mint-condition copies of singer Eddy Grant’s world-renowned masterpiece, “Electric Avenue”!. AWESOME. My life had come full circle-with these two pristine masterworks in my possession, I can finally rule the world–all shall follow in my path chanting the words…

“We gonna rock down to Electric Avenue
And then we’ll take it higher
Oh we gonna rock down to Electric Avenue
And then we’ll take it higher!”

And we shall walk down Electric Avenue in a profound haze of glory! Muahaha! But I digress. I gleefully emerged from the cavernous vinyl section in the store’s basement and placed the two artifacts on the counter. I told the guy behind the counter, “Oh my God, I’ve been searching all over the state to find this record and I get two?!”, in an obvious, tongue-in-cheek way. “Dude, that’s so awesome!”, he replied. Funkadelic garbageman!

I really just wasted your time, didn’t I? Sorry bout that

Faith No More Reunion Tour

I realize that I’m a bit late to post on this news but I don’t care. Influential 90’s rock group Faith No More, one of my favorite bands of all time, has finally announced a reformation after a decade-long hiatus, with a full European tour planned out for the summer. The group will be playing and headlining the Download Festival 2009 at Donington Park in England and will also be playing at such venues as the Hurricane Festival in Germany and Austria’s Nova Rock to name a few. Although the band is kicking off the tour in Europe, the band apparently plans to play a few shows in New York, possibly alongside Killswitch Engage. The band’s bassist Billy Gould has stated in a recent interview that a full-blown tour of the U.S. is “not out of the question”. Most notably, the band has also mentioned recording new material depending on the outcome of the tour. I have been a devoted fan of Faith No More and lead singer Mike Patton’s work for about three years now, and personally, this is probably the best news I’ve heard all year. For those of you unfamiliar with Faith No More (knowing “Epic“ doesn’t count), I highly recommend taking a listen to their 1992 album Angel Dust, in my opinion, one of the greatest albums of the past twenty-five years. King for a Day is pretty good as well.

Review: Hot Rats by Frank Zappa

To be frank (what a lame pun that would be), I practically worship Frank Zappa. His vast discography never failed to inspire me, as did his unique, nonconformist attitude on politics, art, and life in general. He easily remains my all time favorite composer in rock music. So how was I introduced to the man’s brilliant work, you might ask. Well, it began with his 1969 jazz-rock masterpiece Hot Rats, in my opinion, amongst the closest to virtual perfection Zappa ever came.

While this album may not be the best introductory Zappa album, Hot Rats was an instant classic for me (the music is largely instrumental and attention spans these days seem to resent “that kind of garbage! ”) This was Zappa’s first true solo effort upon the breakup of his former band, The Mothers of Invention in August 1969. While his work with the Mothers was masterful in its own way, Hot Rats marked a turning point in the composer’s career, an excellent contrast to the dissonant turbulence of his previous efforts.

The album is comprised of three short, concise jazz-rock pieces and three longer, guitar-oriented jams. Words simply can’t describe the album’s legendary opener “Peaches En Regalia”, a signature Zappa gem with hooky, angular melodies, Asian-influenced guitar harmonies, and intricate, sped-up horn arrangements, all perfectly assembled and whittled down to a 3-plus-minute onslaught of a composition. This was the first Zappa piece I’d ever heard and it is tentatively my favorite song of all time. For the album’s only vocal performance, Zappa gives avant-garde blues singer and high-school buddy Captain Beefheart (another genius altogether) a cameo appearance on the lenghty blues-rock jam “Willie the Pimp”. Beefheart’s raspy, Howlin’ Wolf-gone-mad singing and scatting match the song’s blistering melody perfectly, as Zappa goes on to deliver a long though extraordinary guitar solo (Beefheart would apparently claim that his vocal track wasn’t loud enough in the mix but have no fear–he’s plenty loud!)

Amongst the shorter pieces are “Little Umbrellas” and “It Must Be a Camel”, both beautifully arranged and laid-back with the typically complicated horn sections leading the way, the latter a bit more schizoid in style. These two pieces showcase the heavy overdubbing Zappa had begun experimenting with (practically all the horn melodies were performed by partner and former Mother, Ian Underwood) With the 16-track recorder having just hit studios, Hot Rats was also innovative from a technological standpoint, apparently one of the first to be recorded on the machine, if I’m not mistaken. The record was also one of the first to feature stereo drums rather than the standard (at the time) mono.

And of course, there are the two longer, more jam-oriented works, “Son of Mr. Green Genes” (an epic reworking of a Mothers tune about vegetables) and “The Gumbo Variations” (a long, intense jam between guitar, tenor sax, and electric violin). Both well surpassing the ten-minute mark, they simply have to be heard to be believed.

Hot Rats is simply brilliant. If you’ve never heard the work of Zappa but are friendly with instrumental music, you MUST listen to this record, at least once. I think it’s the one that best represents the man’s compositional mastery, admiteddly one side of his unique style. So if you’re more into song-oriented material and don’t mind lyrics about pancakes, sex, and growing dental floss, take a listen to Over-nite Sensation and Apostrophe, two records that arguably best sum up what Zappa was all about.

Montana by Frank Zappa

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eJN_uWaVRfo

Excellence…

Review: Mr. Bungle by Mr. Bungle

I can clearly recall the first time I listened to this demented record a couple years back. At the time, my music tastes consisted almost solely of funk-rock bands like Primus and RHCP, and people would time and time again mention a band called Mr. Bungle, how great they were, and how much I’d enjoy their music. I’d heard of Faith No More before and I knew eclectic lead singer Mike Patton fronted this band as well. One afternoon, I halfheartedly logged onto my Napster account and decided to take a listen to their first album…

I was in no way prepared for what was coming. The album’s opening track “Travolta” (yes, they penned a song about John Travolta) literally blasted out of my speakers–a horrific, cartoonish nightmare. Within the first half of the song, the band, without any edits whatsoever jump from vivacious sludge metal, to bizarro disco, to free jazz, and back again, all stamped with their signature creepiness. I had never heard music so authentically freakish and twisted, but Mr. Bungle most certainly wasn’t a novelty band–these guys were fantastic musicians. It was total schizophrenia set to music and although it was kind of repulsive, it was strangely compelling.

I continued on. The subsequent track “Slowly Growing Deaf” begins on a five-second funk motif before fading into ominous lounge music, blasting through ethereal, keyboard-laden speed metal, and returning to funky syncopated rhythms within the course of a minute and a half (you starting to get the idea?) And of course, there is the quintessential Bungle onslaught, ”My Ass is On Fire”, IMO, the best song on the record. The demented little ditty grooves along with a hellish funkyness, saturated in dissonant, metallic guitar sludge and keyboard banging with the horn section cutting through the turmoil. “Who on earth are these guys anyway?” I wondered. “And who exactly is this Mike Patton guy?” This wacko delivered one of the most intense vocal performances I had ever heard on record, covering just about every possible form of vocalization imaginable within the album’s ghastly 73 minutes. He doesn’t merely sing–he croons, screams, grunts, babbles, creates walls of noise, and even lets loose the occasional Brian Wilson-like falsetto. Not to mention, this was only a year or so after he’d joined Faith No More and sang on their hit record The Real Thing. Nobody knew he was capable of doing this much with his voice (or just how weird he could be)

But I digress. This is truly a hard record to sum up…but I’ll try. Likely one of the strangest albums of the early nineties, Mr. Bungle drags you on an all-out, psychopathic excursion of a listening experience, bombarding you with a barrage of musical genre-jumping whilst shoving some of the most absurd lyrical concepts in your face, all at once. To get an idea of just how preposterous these guys were, take a listen to their 10-minute opus “Egg”, a disjointed death-ska tune that seems to drag on forever. The cacophonous song has about twelve fake endings, eventually breaking down to the band bashing out random notes on their instruments with Patton singing in a decrepit, old lady voice—“There’s no place like home!” over and over again. After a while, you begin to wonder whether or not the band is trying to be weird. They succeed nonetheless.

In conclusion, I advise that close-minded listeners stay very, very far away from Mr. Bungle. Although I feel that I’ve moved beyond the record’s occasionally juvenile content, I have to give the band credit for, in a way, changing how I perceive music and showing myself and others just how far a great song can break away from the verse/chorus/verse format. Although I personally prefer their Beach Boys-esque masterpiece California (1999) much more, this one serves as a great introduction to the wacky work of Mr. Bungle and Mike Patton.