Recording review - Robbie Fulks, Gone Away Backward (2013)

American roots music, but never primitive

"If you've ever heard Hank Williams sing/ Well, you know the whole blessed thing." Robbie Fulks gets right to the heart of it on "That's Where I'm From", which could have easily served as the title of his new release because Gone Away Backward takes him back to his true love of American roots music. On this song, indeed on the whole album, Fulks aspires to Hank Williams' plain simplicity, but he can't hide his own polish. While Williams drew on a raw power, virtually inventing country music from its folk origins, Fulks has built on this foundation to become an eloquent voice for his musical ideal. Given the shoulders that he stands upon, the last lines of "That's where I'm From" call it right: "A long way down a hard road, that's where I've come/ Someplace I can't go home to, that's where I'm from."

From the beginning of his career, Fulks has idolized that early vision of country music. After failing to fit into the Nashville machine, he turned his back on modern country. But although his writing has shown a great sense of character and phrasing, his records as a whole have seldom connected directly to the traditional purity he touts. A couple of albums have each offered a piece of the puzzle. 13 Hillbilly Giants (2001) gets at that old sound with his interpretation of some lesser known country songs, while 2005's Georgia Hard focused on a late '60s/early /'70s version of the genre. Gone Away Backward bridges the gap to explore a mix of moody folk, raw country, and vibrant bluegrass, without a hint of alt-country irony or self-consciousness. As the song fall like dominoes, Fulks celebrates this old time feel, showing that clarity and sincerity don't have to be simplistic.

The opening track, "I'll Trade You Money For Wine", leads off with restless folk guitar and a fiddle that adds a patina of despair. Fulks' gentle drawl is simultaneously mournful and judgmental. The tune relies on a dark, relentless murder-ballad sound but the lyrical theme is complex and contradictory as he celebrates a surrender into dissolution from a seemingly morally superior perspective. So, "It's a short life and a long time underground/ I'll trade you money for wine" vies with philosophical dissections of industry and his lack of envy for the local banker. The ambiguity proves to be a potent gateway into the album. Despite this scattershot description, the song flows naturally, carrying you deeper into the mood.

After a John Prine style folk tune and a rollicking bluegrass number, the album finds its essence on the aforementioned "That's Where I'm From". Fulks matches the lyrical depth with a beautiful arrangement. His simple guitar part is gradually joined by the other other instruments -- bass, fiddle, mandolin, and banjo -- adding their voices like ghosts of the past standing behind him. As he raises his voice, forthright and unaffected, he captures a mix of poignancy and pride. The closing solos crown the piece perfectly, emotionally sincere without a trace of schmaltz.

The rich acoustic ambiance of Gone Away Backward is only compromised twice, with the subtle slide distortion on the rambling instrumental, "Snake Chapman's Tune", and the odd-bird track, "The Many Disguises of God". This latter song starts with an old British folk feel, with a waltz rhythm and fingerstyle guitar. Arty and sparse, the arrangement uses fiddle and the wicked sizzle of electric guitar fuzz to add an ominous haze that builds into a miasma of dread. Although at first listen it might clash with the folk-based approach on the rest of the album, the allegorical narrative does suggest an earlier time.

As much as I've enjoyed Fulks' earlier work, from the wry self-delusion of "You Wouldn't Do That To Me" (SouthMouth - 1997) to the dark cynicism of "God Isn't Real" (Let's Kill Saturday Night - 1998), this set of songs may well be the best that he's written. I wouldn't mind a little more of his sarcastic wit, but I appreciate the way Gone Again Backward commits to its theme and delivers so consistently.

Recording review - The Octopus Project, Fever Forms (2013)

Art-school music offers a suite of musical facets

The octopus has many arms and sometimes, the left, er.. tentacle can’t quite guess what the others are up to. Rather than settle for a definable sound, The Octopus Project juggles an odd collection of eclectic electronica and various fragments of indie rock ‘n’ roll. Driving motorik rhythms may veer off into synth pop or frantic 8-bit scrabbling, but somehow the band forges an ADHD mish-mash of influences into an engaging, playful fusion.

Throughout Fever Forms, guitars and synthesizers collide and blend DNA. On “The Falls”, an ambient wash heralds the first faltering steps of the song before it acquires an insistent guitar riff. The keyboard resonates and repeats the occasional note. The band slides into a steady trance groove, wrapped in shiny, tin-foil guitar feedback. At just over three minutes, the song quickly evolves into a Krautrock exploration, but the catchy descending waterfall of notes remains the central focus.

In sharp contrast, the following track, “Pyramid Kosmos”, jump cuts the vibe, tying a videogame theme to anxious, skittering beats. But even here, analog touches flavor the digital stew, adding tastes of whining guitar and cymbal shimmer. It’s an unsettling transition, but there’s little time to dwell as the tune quickly zips off into a tripping, chaotic jumble of sound, anchored to off-beat rhythms. While never soothing, the track is wrapped in dense layers of sound that hide a host of intriguing details. The song appropriately returns to its 8-bit roots to wrap up on a “game over” vamp.

Juxtaposing such diverse sounds is a fundamental part of the band’s experimental approach. Each track offers a different facet, but a uniform portrait begins to emerge, casting the band as a hopeful, inquisitive collective. While electronic music can seem cold or stiff, The Octopus Project overcomes that with their exuberant attitude. This shines through brightest on “Mmkit”, my favorite earworm on Fever Forms. It kicks off with glitchy static and a techno beat which should foreshadow a club-friendly dance track. It’s a promising intro, but it delivers a surprising three minute gem. The mechanical percussion is quickly buried under a spacy, indie rock mix and chiming guitar line. Then the bass takes over, sounding like New Order on a mix of mood stabilizers and crack. Beeps and whistles, frenetic drum rolls, and crystalline tones fill out context for the relentless, snaking bass line. The manic ride finally subsides into a simple beat, speedily growing sparser until it gives way to the bouncy electro-pop of the next track, “The Man with the Golden Hand”.

“Perhap” offers a similar bait and switch. Dreamy electronica loops lazily with trembling synth accents, creating an island of calm. But a short, punchy drum solo shatters the relaxing reverie and sets a simple swaggering rhythm. Throbbing tremolo and thick reverb link back to the drowsy beginning, but the heavy drumbeat precludes drifting away. Echoed guitar arpeggios set up the next step where the song moves into a lush exotica groove, anchored by a singing, soprano keyboard line that seems ready to cover the “Theme from Star Trek”. The whole package has timeless feel because the retro style is moderated by a modern percussion mix.

Musical surprises like these can be gimmicky, but The Octopus Project brings a brash confidence that could excuse a multitude of musical sins. Even as they flit from updated synthpop (“Whitby”) to Devo-esque new wave (“The Mythical E.L.C.”), it’s easy to hang with the changes, trying to anticipate what comes next. The only pigeonhole for this genre-hopping project is to file it under “art school” music. Indeed, the album’s promotion and packaging all point in this direction, from the stereoscopic album trailer and custom View-Master slides to translucent gold vinyl and “psychotraumatic” CD art. All of this may seem too precious, but it’s worth letting the music speak for itself, even if it sings in a multitude of tongues.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Front Range recommendations, 8/26

It's a slower week, but we'll double up on the Pimps of Joytime

Friday, 30 August (CSU Intramural Fields, Ft. Collins CO)
Macklemore and Ryan Lewis

I remember when Macklemore was a supporting act with a prerecorded backing track (review). And he kicked ass then. Then I listened to The Language of My World (review) and I was really blown away. In recent years, he's become more of a household name, working with producer Ryan Lewis. Even as his raps and beats have evolved, his honesty, sincerity, and humor have remained constant.

I missed my own window to score tickets and now this show is sold out. But if you don't have your tickets yet, just pay the scalpers, you'll be glad you did.

Saturday, 31 August (Cervantes Other Side, Denver CO)
Sunday, 1 September (Cervantes Other Side, Denver CO)
Pimps of Joytime

My buddy Brent texted me from a Pimps of Joytime show a while back and couldn't praise them enough. So far, I haven't made it to their previous shows in Colorado, but I need to get out there. Sitting down with 2007's High Steppin' (review) convinced me that they not only have the funk, but they've updated it, and dressed it up for a party on stage. They're playing two nights in Denver, so you have no excuse to miss them this time (I'm talking to YOU, Jester).

Recording review - Bass Drum of Death, Bass Drum of Death (2013)

Originality from the heart of the garage

Bass Drum of Death makes its home deep in the heart of the garage. Listening to their self-titled second album, it’s easy to pick up a contact buzz of gasoline huffing and carbon monoxide, exacerbated by a case of tinnitus as workbenches rattle in sympathy with guitar feedback. Blown out speakers and concrete-echo vocals are lovingly captured with the lowest of fidelity. The band started out as a solo project for John Barrett, although drummer Len Clark came on board for the first album, GB City (2011). While they have mastered the simple, shouted vocal line, a relentless, jittery pace, and walls of blunted distortion, two things distinguish them from their retro, noise-loving peers. The first is their technical competence: starts and endings are cleanly executed, the snare work is impeccable and, despite the heavily compressed sound, they fit in some decent dynamic shifts. The second difference is that while they may use punk-infused garage rock as their jumping-off point, they’re willing to play with the style, branching out to color it with thrash pop, grunge and new wave.

Even when they start with a traditional foundation, like on “I Wanna Be Forgotten” and “Such a Bore”, they find interesting directions. “Such a Bore” is built around the tag from the classic, “Gloria”, but Bass Drum of Death binds the classic riff to a new melody. The tempo modulates throughout the tune, starting with the steady drive of the main section, then picking up speed during a meltdown lead before dragging back for a brief breakdown and then resetting. The genre is rife with sloppy bands that can’t keep time, but in this case, the precise coordination between the instruments demonstrates the band’s intention.

The most interesting tracks go further afield, finding unexpected influences. I particularly enjoy “Shattered Me”, which sounds like a muffled version of Team Spirit. They capture the same flavor of optimistic, retro thrash-pop, and the twinned guitar lead is spot-on. The lyrics are a bit tricky to discern, but offer some nice phrases, “You and me/ Perplexed and out of sleep/ I’m vexed and move into my own.” Another standout was “No Demons”, which borrows a taste of Nirvana grunge, twisting “Smells Like Teen Spirit” in on itself to create a disaffected jam, shot through with drained anxiety.

Bass Drum of Death is a progression from the band’s debut, adding bass guitar into the mix, but the name continues to be a bit of a bait-and-switch. Most of these songs could still use more bottom end; tom and snares dominate the drum parts. The exception is “Way Out”, which is the strongest track on the album. Despite matching the compression level of the rest of the album, the kick drum and bass guitar finally stand out, grounding the tune. It’s a relatively sophisticated piece, with separate sections that sound like lo-fi indie rock rather than simple garage rock. The heavy opening beat sets up a see-saw guitar riff which drops into a grinding rhythm. The vocals have a punk sneer, but off-kilter guitar fills add a thin layer of disorientation. The resulting blend offers some nice surprising turns.

The success of bands like Thee Oh Sees and Ty Segall has led to an inundation of follow-on acts. Bass Drum of Death’s originality is promising. Their biggest limitation is the ridiculous level of compression which mutes their energy. They shouldn't abandon the lo-fi, noisy elements of their sound, but a little more headroom would make their bass drum more lethal and give the songs more punch.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)