At the Drive-In - Vaya

            Whereas releasing a full-length record, the definitive collection of audible art, is forever the ideal dream for an artist, such a feat is always laden with expectations, both monetary and creative. Because of the sheer work involved in writing songs, recording, marketing and artwork, not to mention the gross amounts of money spent along the way, a band quickly learns that there is a whole lot riding on the success of their record’s sales. Conversely, the EP, because of its shorter length and production involvement, feels more like a gift than a death sentence. For the fans, the EP is a small record to collect and appreciate; for the label, it’s a small-time release that promotes the act and keeps public interest; and for the band, it is a chance to try new techniques, sounds, and ideas without worrying about sinking the entire ship. The extended play lets a band flex their creative wings, and gives them a few tunes on which to concentrate their expression, regardless of whether or not anyone likes it – and this is exactly what At the Drive-In does with Vaya.

            The band’s penultimate release before their dissolution, Vaya is a heavy dose of distilled ATDI, seven songs composed to the band’s specific and intellectual tastes, and a great example of their dynamic approach to music. Though tempos may vary, every tune drips with pure, unfiltered energy, the fury of youth wound around the precision of experience. Because this record is made up of only seven songs, the band takes the opportunity to really stylize their sound and give Vaya a unique feel. Every song is written in a minor key, allowing for a somber and frustrated mood to settle into the listener, reflected by pervasive time signature changes and dissonant intervals. Similarly, the EP is laden with an electronic influence, showcasing Jim Ward on keys almost as much as on guitar, and featuring a heavy array of new effects. In an interview, drummer Tony Hajjar remarked that the band “get[s] bored really fast” and so always “want[s] to do different things” with their music, finding ways into integrate “new toys” into each subsequent project.[1] Between dub drum beats and squealing synthesizers, At the Drive-In lays a fresh digital flavor onto their melodic and heavy punk tones across the span of this record, filling it with a crisp feel that is neither boring nor hackneyed.

            There is a whole lot of arranging a band can do in the small space provided by an EP, and At the Drive-In wastes not a second. The composition is very focused on this record, and ATDI leaves the listener with seven complex and thoughtful tunes. The guitar work often moves through dissonant territory: Omar Rodriguez-Lopez paints some incredibly tense images across the mind with “Metronome Arthritis” and “300 MHz,” finding tones that are terrifyingly and certainly reminiscent of his later work with The Mars Volta. The sincere amount of thought poured into Vaya shows a maturity rarely seen in punk music, yet the honest blood of these fives musicians screams through the speakers with every spin, proving that they have lost none of their youthful motivation. At the Drive-In approaches the songs on Vaya from a completely novel viewpoint, allowing them to extend far beyond the boundaries of simple music.

            One tune where the band truly lays it all out is “198d,” the record’s emotionally-charged closer. Named for the inscription on the gravestone of drummer Tony Hajjar’s grandmother,[2] this tune voyages back and forth between the realms of ballad and anthem with undeniable grace. Beginning with soft synths and delayed guitar melodies, “198d” feels like a funeral procession, and seems to travel through all seven stages of grieving, wavering between virtually inaudible verses and sharp, wailing choruses. Similarly, Cedric’s vocals are a sympathetic whisper in the verses, sharply contrasting with the heart-rending shouts of the chorus reminiscent of the grief-stricken. The tune’s time signature even reflects the constant changes, morphing into 12/4 in the bridge before sliding back into common time. “198d” encapsulates more sorrow, anger, and attention to detail than most records do, and is a prime cut from a band known for its intelligence and feel.

            Not surprisingly, Cedric’s lyrical contributions to Vaya are just as thoughtful and intricate as the composition. His writing edges heavily into metaphor on this EP, and he takes a firm grasp on the musicality of his words, giving them the feel of pure poetry. His word choices and syntax reflect a deep level of cognition, as he effortlessly juxtaposes images of Roman Emperors with those of the Space Race in “Proxima Centauri,” fusing two vastly different ideas into one seamless movement. Much of the lyrics are focused through a lens of violence, and Cedric’s screaming delivery doubles the effect. Another powerful motif which is handled with care and intensity is that of crime: Cedric’s desperate queries of “What if forensics finds the answers? / What if they stole my fingerprints?” in “Metronome Arthritis” are both chilling and guilty,[3] while his commanding “Let the thieves in through the front door”[4] in “Heliotrope” is one of the most poignant moments on the record. Cedric’s heavy topics and subtle imagery mix very well with the heavy and disturbing tones of the instrumentation, working to maintain the mood of darkness and unrest present on Vaya.

            The brutal and universal honesty at the very root of it is what makes this EP move so powerfully through its listener. Every note of every tune is imbued with absolute importance by this band, a belief that what they’re creating is worthwhile, even if the end result isn’t always spectacular. Truthfully, although certainly listenable, I find “Metronome Arthritis” and “300 MHz” to be too laden with dissonance to truly enjoy them, and the minute-long wait for “Proxima Centauri” to really take off looses a lot of steam from the song. But even if I don’t love every second, I can’t help but appreciate the raw and meaningful veracity At the Drive-In has poured into it. In an interview with Buddyhead, Omar stated that even though “people want the same record” to be made over and over again, At the Drive-In refuses to bend, because for them, making music is about “keeping ourselves happy and entertained.”[5] There are no delusions or ulterior motives, which is why even the worst decisions on Vaya work so well. The sincerity of the music is so prevalent that it seems almost its own instrument, and deftly resolves any harsh moments of noise into robust and gritty successes.

            Though the record is tinged with some lukewarm moments, one song where At the Drive-In slaughters from start to finish is the punchy “Heliotrope.” Perhaps the fastest tune on this EP, “Heliotrope” offers an intricate blend of both punk intensity and post-hardcore aesthetics. The band tears through heavy verses, as Omar yanks notes from the bottom of his neck and Cedric all but tears the lining of his throat out. Tony’s drum beats are simply insane, and he leaves no part of his kit unbruised. In stark contrast to this madness are the more melodic-based choruses, where guitars whine and the rhythm section sounds more like a gentle knock than blunt trauma. The juxtaposition of loud and soft, beauty and fury pervades “Heliotrope;” Cedric’s entire vocal is screamed, but poetically powerful lines like “Heat seeking, gums bleeding / fingers snapping at the catacomb stabbings”[6] only gain from his guttural delivery. With its delicate shape and exhausting pace, “Heliotrope” is a tune that incites both moshing and intellectual discourse, an unsteady and almost unheard-of combination of mind and body.

            Besides providing us with some incredibly intricate compositions, Vaya is a record of this band’s complete fearlessness in pushing boundaries in their music, a factor few artists even consider, never mind wholeheartedly embody. At the Drive-In uses this EP to make some new choices and take some new turns, and while not all of them work, the fact that they had the gall to try anyways makes a bold statement about what it means to be an artist, and is the reason Josh Watkins of Heave Media labeled this EP “the last vestige of the band at full force.”[7] With Vaya, At the Drive-In throws its entire weight behind its musical movements, and whether the ship glides, rocks, or sinks, it is obvious they plan to follow their course to the very end. For all the things that this EP does hold, there is not a single trace of fear in its beats or screams, and such a silence has never sounded so good.

Tunes to Check Out:
1) Heliotrope
2) 198d
3) Proxima Centauri

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[1] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P3LOAlnjUbk

[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vaya

[3] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/atthedrivein/metronomearthritis.html

[4] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/atthedrivein/heliotrope.html

[5] http://www.buddyhead.com/1999/05/25/interview-with-at-the-drive-in/

[6] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/atthedrivein/heliotrope.html

[7] http://www.heavemedia.com/2012/04/24/45-rpm-at-the-drive-in/

Nirvana - In Utero

Quite a few artists in the genre of rock get pinned with the adjective “seminal,” yet few are so universally recognized as Nirvana. It wasn’t until about the age of twelve that I really found out who Nirvana was, and everyone I encountered simply could not believe I had yet to delve into their music. Thus, like many of my generation, I became engrossed in Nirvana’s catalogue during their resurgence in popularity following release of the With the Lights Out box set and Kurt Cobain’s Journals. I got my grubby teenaged hands on every release within my reach and immersed myself in the mountain of music and literature surrounding this mythic group.

During this time, I remember being caught up in the hype around this legendary act, sucking down biographies and recordings with fervor. Most of my time was spent with their studio albums (being both readily available and wholly celebrated), yet the one that received the least attention was In Utero, Nirvana’s final true studio release. Though I had spun it dozens of times, I found the abrasive, feedback laden, brutally raw tracks to be frightening and headache-inducing, and thus clung to the radio singles and abandoned the rest. Perhaps my age stood in the way, for I could not know that in returning to that same record ten years later, I would be addicted to those bleeding deep cuts that once drove me back.

Though as a young boy I read and re-read the saga of Nirvana’s rise and collapse, the artistic struggle to remain both creative and credible was something I couldn’t truly fathom. Unfortunately for fourteen-year-old me, unwavering commitment to that ideal is an integral factor in the sound of In Utero. For their third full length, Nirvana recruited producer and indie legend Steve Albini[1] in hopes that he could assist them in creating a record devoid of the label influence and over-production that had so overwhelmed Nevermind. Being that Albini had produced The Pixies’ Surfer Rosa,[2] a band idol, they knew what they were getting into, and the result is as chaotic, messy, and real as anyone could have hoped for. Kurt’s guitar screams through his distortion pedal for most of the record, releasing melodic solos and grating chords amidst horrifying squeals of feedback. Krist Novoselic’s bass growls like a tank, and Dave Grohl’s drums hold more punch than a battery of cannons.

In Utero invades the ears like an army of mastodons at first listen, but repeated spinning shows that this record is much more than noise. Although Albini certainly helped the band achieve the aggressive tone they’d been seeking, all of the pop-driven songwriting which made Nirvana into a household name is still completely captured in and complemented by this musical hurricane. Before the release of the album, Cobain remarked that In Utero was not an attempt at abandoning Nevermind or its fans: “Let’s face it, we already sold out two and a half years ago. There’s no sense in trying to redeem yourself by putting out an abrasive album and pretending you’re a punk rocker again.”[3] Thus, tunes like “Heart-Shaped Box” and “All Apologies,” featuring clean guitar and soft singing from Cobain, lay adjacent to punk monstrosities like “tourette’s” and “Very Ape,” yet neither style really overshadows the other. Indeed, the vulnerability that this band displays in some of its lighter tunes offers just as much definition to In Utero as the thrash and bash sound of the mix. The fact that Nirvana, while trying to make a record that is untainted by corporate greed, still insists on imbuing their music with meaning and melody shows that, even with ideals and anti-ideals in mind, this band’s first mission remains making the music it wants to make.

One tune that captures Nirvana’s well-worn and pop-driven side is “Dumb,” perhaps the tamest tune off of In Utero. Described as “Beatlesesque,”[4] this track twists the provisional template of the production into a melodic masterpiece that remains in rotation for many radio stations. Against the more belligerent songs, “Dumb” stands out not only for its focus on gentility and beauty, but also its uncharacteristically optimistic lyrical content. Although the speaker appears unsure on his feet, he asserts, “I’m having fun”[5] despite any obstacles that might land in front of him, whether they be darkness or over-intoxication. The positive and calm energy of this tune contrasts starkly with the punk fury around it, but it lacks for none of Nirvana’s emotionally-laden energy, and remains one of my favorite Nirvana songs of all time.

Due to its immediate catchiness and mellow approach, “Dumb” is a bit of a black sheep on In Utero. The majority of the music on the record is both messy and violent, and Kurt’s lyrical and vocal contributions are just as chaotic. He spends half of the record guiding his vulnerable voice through skittish moaning melodies, and the other forcing that voice into guttural, almost primitive screams—his yells leading into the chorus of “Scentless Apprentice” are so loud that the vocal track clips. While certainly entertaining, many of his lyrics sink underneath his delivery, making them all but unintelligible. As for the lyrics themselves, Kurt wavers between pop sensibility and punk rock rebellion, offsetting his clichéd hooks with a plethora of sickness and death imagery. His melodies provide the listener with unstoppable choruses that get lodged in the head, but when built on refrains like “Sit and drink pennyroyal tea / distill the life that’s inside of me” or the simply blatant “Rape me,” those melodies wriggle like tapeworms swimming through the intestines.

While every song seems to have a general theme or direction, the sparse wordwork and mild metaphor aren’t too conducive to the movement of ideas; however, the songs work very well to convey universal themes on the record, specifically the band’s reaction to the debacle of fame they experienced two years earlier. After releasing a monster record like Nevermind, the bar for a follow-up certainly must be ludicrous in its height, and the buzz surrounding that venture is enough to drive most into madness, but Nirvana’s choice to deal with said fame in the sarcastic composition of their new record is brilliant. Kurt directly addresses the focus of the public on his life in “Serve the Servants” with the line “That legendary divorce is such a bore,” and plays on their success with an opening of “Teenaged angst has paid off well / Now I’m bored and old.”[6] In “Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle,” he laments the loss of the innocent simplicity of being in a band, groaning his chorus line “I miss the comfort in being sad.”[7] The music itself also reacts to Nirvana’s stardom, as the band continually denies the listener resolving notes at the end of their songs, letting them peter out into feedback and moans rather than achieving a climactic close. The band eschews conventions in popular music, playing on dissonant intervals and unfiltered candor in their boredom with being idols, effectively giving the music industry and anyone else who believes “Nirvana = Nevermind” a big middle finger.

For a record laden with derision and indifference, no track offers more sarcasm than “Milk It.” This grueling and boisterous tune features Nirvana purposefully avoiding almost anything that a “Top-40” lover needs to enjoy music. The song begins with Kurt randomly picking his guitar through gross intervals that feel intentionally wrong, before sidling into an overdriven riff. Dave Grohl’s drumming deliberately misplaces the downbeat, making it impossible to tap your foot along with the tune. Kurt moans in the verses and almost vomits in the chorus, keeping his vocal sounds far from pronounceable. This musical dumpster is capped with lyrics laden with sickening imagery, as he hangs on the motif of parasites feeding off of the least appetizing of human bodily fluids. The song seems a sardonic comment on fame, an acknowledgement that an artist could sell absolute rubbish to its fans if they have enough backing, as well as many musicians’ willingness to “milk” stardom by putting no meaning or intention behind their art. While a commonly addressed issue in the music world, Nirvana uses “Milk It” to put themselves under the spotlight for this very issue, using a crass and sarcastic attitude to respond to assertions that they fall under the umbrella of “soulless sellouts.”

Anyone who takes the risk of spinning In Utero can expect an overdose of feedback and unbridled anger, but there is more than enough energy and melody to turn the noise into meaningful music. Nirvana’s last record is one that requires attention and thought, something a younger me couldn’t give, and that an older me is glad to apply. When examined in a thoughtful and receptive fashion, even the radio hits that have pummeled alternative radio for two decades become fresh and momentous. Thus, if you dare pick up In Utero, take the Nirvana you think you know out of the equation, and judge it for what it is—you may find something with which to fall in love.

Tunes to Check Out:
1) tourette's
2) Milk It
3) Serve the Servants

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[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_Utero_(album)#Background

[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Steve_Albini%27s_recording_projects#1985.E2.80.931989

[3] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dumb_(song)#Composition_and_critical_reception

[4] Azerrad, Michael. Come as You Are: The Story of Nirvana. Doubleday, (1994). ISBN 0-385-47199-8

[5] http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/nirvana/dumb112589.html

[6] http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/nirvana/servetheservants.html

[7] http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/nirvana/francesfarmerwillhaveherrevengeonseattle.html

Song Spotlight: "3 Chords" by Assorted Jelly Beans

            Recently, a close friend of mine, while taking a bus from Greece to Germany, awoke after a restless sleep to find himself in West Nowheresville, Romania, hundreds of miles from his intended destination. Burdened by his luggage and without any grasp of the local language, panic nagged my friend as he searched for a foothold in this strange land. However, instead of giving into that fear, my friend calmed himself by simplifying his dilemma in his head, breaking down each obstacle he had to face and handling them one at a time. His calm approach of focusing intently on each step, rather than becoming overwhelmed, carried him through his crisis, leading him all the way to a friend’s doorstep in Berlin. His tale reminded me of a song I hadn’t heardto in a few years, a song defined by the same “take-it-easy” attitude, the simple and extremely amusing “Three Chords” by Assorted Jelly Beans.

            A two-minute ditty, “3 Chords” is named as such because of its extremely simple foundation—the entire song is composed of different riffs using the same three major chords. Despite this makeshift blueprint, however, this trio seems to pull every possible sound and riff out of those three chords. Wylie Johnson switches between squealing ska and chugging punk, altering the feel of the tune without spilling an ounce of energy. Rick Boyer tears through some incredible walking bass lines, running through notes like a marathon, and all while speed-singing his goofy lyrics and pop-driven melody. Behind it all, Ricky Falomir (currently drumming for legends The Aquabats)[1] slams his sticks against every piece of his kit, driving the tempo to near-dangerous speeds. For a song based on almost nothing, Assorted Jelly Beans lays out enough for a sonic feast.

            Because of my obvious affinity for the bass guitar, it is Rick Bowyer’s contributions in this song with which I truly connect. While the overall mix of the tune is shoddy (especially for Johnson’s guitar), it naturally favors the frontman in both vocals and instrumentation, and Bowyer’s bass skills are monster enough that he easily earns the spot. His fingers cruise with ease over complicated and rhythmic walking lines, barreling up and down the neck like a skater on a boardwalk. His pieces are as melodic as his voice, giving the song and the bass the flavor of a lead instrument, a title it rarely receives and hardly ever survives. Similarly, Bowyer’s vocals are delivered with utter enthusiasm, energy, and fun, proving him as a ridiculously enjoyable lead singer.

            While Bowyer’s voice is tinged with comic absurdity, the lyrical roots of his vocal roots extend far beyond the superficial. Like the composition, the lyrics are straightforward in their approach, as Rick breaks down his process for dealing with stress, opening with the assertion that “the only real thing I’ve learned along the way / is that nothing is for sure so I take it day by day.”[2]  Though he accelerates through his lyrics like a rapper, the message inherent in the words is loud and clear, as Bowyer reminds his audience not to take life too seriously, and that his best remedy for dealing with daily train wrecks is to “weigh it out and figure out just where I’m going.”[3]  The lyrics ply that a simple, cognitive approach is the best way of dealing with life, an idea perfect for a song built on three chords.

            In the chorus, Bowyer reminds us that “we all get slapped up in the face / but still we get back up and play.”[4] A simple message presented in a chaotic way, “3 Chords” assures me that the simple paths of life are both rewarding and engaging. Its catchy melodies and roadrunner beat take the seriousness out of making music, pushing the fun to the forefront and letting the meaning come after. The boisterous excitement bleeding out of this tune rings in my ears, leaving no doubt in my mind a step-by-step approach is often the best one, and affirms that the casual beauty of life is to be had in every moment and in every song, even if that song’s core is nothing more than three well-worn power chords.

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[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Falomir

[2] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/assortedjellybeans/3chords.html

[3] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/assortedjellybeans/3chords.html

[4] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/assortedjellybeans/3chords.html

The Mars Volta - De-Loused in the Comatorium

            As a lover of music, I am constantly recommended new material by my friends and peers. I do my best to experience these suggestions, but it sometimes takes me years to finally give it a listen, even if the particular act I’m being recommended is universally acclaimed by those whose opinions I hold dear. For years, I had heard the name The Mars Volta spoken with reverence and awe, but I had never allowed myself to delve into their catalogue, until a few good friends urged me to pick up their first record, De-Loused in the Comatorium. And when this record finally did make its way into my hands, I found myself immersed in a completely novel, completely indescribable world of music that I have since come to revere.

            My fresh fascination with De-Loused, and thus The Mars Volta, rises from the fact that I have truthfully never heard anything like this before. The myriad of sonic pulses on this record make it transcend the very idea of genre. Omar Rodriguez-Lopez’s guitar work ranges from high-voltage punk thrashing to deft solos reminiscent of Led Zeppelin to salsa-injected finger-picking, and being the main composer on the record, the rest of the band is truly tailored to fit into his intense compositions. Ikey Owens’ keys dominates any treble space left untouched by Rodriguez-Lopez, while Flea absolutely tears apart his fretboard on the bass, laying runs and rhythms that perfectly meld with the monster drumming of Jon Theodore. Rounding out this chaos of intense musicianship is the sonic stylings of Jeremy Ward, whose sound manipulation and effects loops allow for the vibrations of the band’s music to form tangible environments that are downright disturbing. Together, this group conjures a powerful tapestry of sound on a scale to which few have aspired, which Tiny Mix Tapes calls “an earful of flavourful, imaginative and cognitive music.”[1]

            Where the instrumentation sparks a dark universe within ­De-Loused in the Comatorium, Cedric Bixler-Zavala populates it with his emotional and erratic vocals. Cedric approaches his voice as an instrument, with melodies that climb and dip and double-back like the mind of a maniac. He often layers his vocals with heavy effects, or spits small lines that Ward shapes into frightening moments to be incorporated into his sonic nightmare segments.

            Cedric’s lyrical method is just as unique. He apparently houses a very poetic mind, for his word choices are almost exclusively intense and vibrant. His incendiary vocal only enhances their effect, as he wails through lines that raise the hairs on my arm every time, such as with “Spector will lurk / Radar has gathered / Midnight nooses from boxcar cadavers.”[2] He relies heavily on metaphor, which is made only more interesting by the fact that his lyrics unite the tunes of De-Loused into a theme record, reflecting a short story written by Bixler-Zavala of the same name (which you can check out here), loosely based on the life and death of artist Julio Venegas.[3] His style of writing reflects a stream-of-consciousness approach, which, while keeping the original intent of the writing hidden, allows the listener to thoroughly insert his own meaning into each line, and to draw his own emotional connection from the story. Also, by taking the focus away from the specific meanings of the words, Cedric zooms in on the sound of his lyrics, furthering his instrumental contribution to the record. Though some of his phrases can come off exceptionally weak (for example, “transient jet lag ecto mimed bison”)[4] no one can argue that Cedric’s interpretation of his role as vocalist is both progressive and interesting.

            The approach to both composition and performance that this band takes is a complete synthesis of energy and cognition, two very dangerous ingredients to play with in music. Much of the songwriting is built on the idea of tension and release, where the music creates an uncomfortable space before resolving into something considerably more pleasing. While countless acts have used tension before, none have taken it to the level that The Mars Volta does on De-Loused, where the sought-after resolving moment is often denied to the listener for most of the tune. This tension is embedded in the compositions, as the band stutters between tempos, rhythms, and time signatures, refusing to the let the listener find their bearings often until the final moments of the song. For instance, the opening riff of “Inertiatic ESP” is repeated almost randomly throughout, denying the listener a foothold by removing the idea of a downbeat, and making Cedric Bixler-Zavala’s declaration of “I’m lost” all the more poignant.[5] Similarly, in tunes like “Cicatriz ESP” and “Drunkship of Lanterns,” the tunes are built to collapse into the maelstroms of Jeremy Ward, which lull the listener into dark corners of noise before exploding back into the song proper. All of this madness works to reflect the true insanity embodied by the story, for a man’s trip through his own mind must indeed be a dark one. While many might just view such antics as obliviously poor musicianship, after spending a month with this record on repeat, it becomes obvious that these are choices, not accidents. Quite frankly, this band knows what it is doing to you; every note has been sculpted to illicit not only emotions, but impressions of the primal urges of fear and confusion.

            Although some would argue otherwise, one listen makes it apparent that some heavy responsibility falls on Jeremy Ward’s contributions. Omar’s compositions are blatantly technical and emotive, but it is through Ward’s soundscaping that the tunes reach their full height, connecting with the vast continent of images into which Cedric’s short story unfolds. With a tumbling drum sample and buzzing guitar bends, Ward creates an audio photo of the main character’s tumble off of an overpass in “Take the Veil Cerpin Taxt,” while his mixing of dub beats and guitar feedback evolve into empty lullabies into which the listener can sink, before being surprised by the riotous beginning of the next tune. His parts may seem superfluous upon first glance, yet without his influence on the space of the tune, I doubt the story of Cerpin Taxt could be so well translated into music as it is on this record.

            As a collection of music, De-Loused in the Comatorium has a pretty sound hull; however, it has been the subject of much critical scrutiny since its release, and not without reason. Many find that the focus on tension and soundscaping leaves the record as an interesting but ultimately flawed endeavor—Brent DiCrescenzo of Pitchfork remarks that “The Mars Volta mistake sonic piling for complex architecture,” and claims the technical approach “just isn’t fun,”[6] while John Hanson of Sputnik Music condemns Cedric’s lyrics as “utter tripe.”[7] Truthfully, while I do enjoy this band’s innovative audacity, it does sometimes get in the way of the music. Many songs feature a lot of repetition and jam without evolution, curbing my appetite for more rather than whetting it. And while I adore the idea of lyrics operating as sounds as well as words, I find the occasional moments when they devolve into incoherent drivel deprives the song of depth, since it is apparent Cedric can create gorgeous phrases when he applies even a hint of effort.

            Despite this, De-Loused is a largely solid and emphatic record, and a damn good listen, because it is complicated and convoluted, and because, as Cedric puts it, “demands your attention. It demands at least an hour out of your life, and with complete silence and with complete devotion.”[8] This record makes it apparent that what is most important to this act is creative freedom, the ability to try new things without fear of rejection or failure. According to the AllMusic biography, TMV exhibits a “willingness to eschew conventional logic and push themselves into new artistic directions instead of opting for the more marketable sounds,”[9] an impressive move for a fledgling act, and one that sets them apart. With De-Loused­, The Mars Volta adventures to unexplored territories of music, and wrong turns ought to be expected along the journey, because they are just as pivotal as the right ones.

            Regardless of the small hiccups almost guaranteed by pioneering music, with De­-Loused, The Mars Volta usurps the artistic throne and proves they have a right to rule. Their musical prowess is ostensibly vast, and when these musicians do click, they create something amazing. One such tune is “Eriatarka,” an excellent example of all elements coming together in a perfect unison of emotion, energy, and importance. Featuring a high energy chorus juxtaposed against gentle verses laden with lilting melodies, this tune encapsulates the entire dark side of the human mind. Omar utilizes time signature changes between sections to create his tension, taking a step back from tritones and musical arrhythmia in favor of a more tender touch of madness. Cedric’s vocal is simultaneously a caress and a stab, and his lyrics wield poetry without becoming reckless, reflecting the energy the bands exudes in each section. “Eriatarka,” though only a sample of the madness this band is capable of, is a tune that rocks to its very core, and is easily my favorite from this record.

            With ­De-Loused in the Comatorium, The Mars Volta found a way to translate into sound the senses of the body and the impulses of the psyche. Though their tunes might not be readily accessible to the average listener, there is no doubt that this band has accomplished an incredible feat, and with their first full-length no less. As Cedric puts it, the goal of The Mars Volta is to “jab the common man’s ears,” because “if we don’t, we’ll never get to a place where future music exists.”[10] Thus, De-Loused pushes the listener to transcend the very thought of how music can and should be done, to explore the vast universe of sound that until now has only been cursorily observed. Consider this record then as a satellite launched into orbit with a purpose of urging us to hammer the boundaries, to find out what humans are truly capable of when they band together in heart and mind.

Tunes to Check Out:
1) Eriatarka
2) Take the Veil Cerpin Taxt
3) Drunkship of Lanterns

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[1] http://www.tinymixtapes.com/music-review/mars-volta-de-loused-comatorium

[2] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/marsvolta/roulettedaresthehauntof.html

[3] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/De-Loused_in_the_Comatorium

[4] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/marsvolta/roulettedaresthehauntof.html

[5] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/marsvolta/inertiaticesp.html

[6] http://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/5117-de-loused-in-the-comatorium/

[7] http://www.sputnikmusic.com/review/6839/The-Mars-Volta-De-Loused-in-the-Comatorium/

[8] http://www.theaquarian.com/2008/01/30/the-mars-volta-happy-pastors/

[9] http://www.allmusic.com/artist/the-mars-volta-mn0000045560/biography

[10] http://www.theaquarian.com/2008/01/30/the-mars-volta-happy-pastors/

Norma Jean - Wrongdoers

Note: Dear friends, at this time I am unable to latch videos of the songs I refer to below. Until such a time that I am able to place those tunes in this article, please accept the below live clip and the official video for "If You Got It at Five, You Got It at Fifty" as an apology and a teaser. And pick up this record. It's filthy. 

            I would argue that I’m a patient person, and rarely the type to let anticipation dominate my mindset. However, when I heard at the beginning of the year that Norma Jean was working on a new album, I had no idea how to contain myself during the interminable wait. After devouring their previous catalogue over the past two years, Norma Jean quickly rocketed into my list of favorite bands, and the thought of new music to meet my fix was one that never left my head. And since it’s arrival at my doorstep three months ago, Wrongdoers has remained in heavy rotation, for the boys of Norma Jean are never ones to disappoint. 

            If there is one sound Norma Jean sought to capture with this release, it is the ear-pounding beat of adrenaline. Jeff Hickey and Chris Day match licks and chugs on guitar, through which the thumping bass work of John Finnegan demands to be heard. Clayton “Goose” Holyoak absolutely slaughters on his drums, ranging his approach from speed-metal thrashing to laying down beats worthy of a hip-hop record. His eclectic but rock-solid drumming feeds the focus of the instrumentation on creating serious, swaying grooves, something relatively unheard of from this act. But despite featuring three completely new members in the lineup, Wrongdoers lacks not at all for Norma Jean’s signature smashing heaviness, and Goose would argue this is perhaps the band’s most “pissed off” record to date[1]. The brutality and chaos that defines this band’s sound is a heavy presence, with every tune featuring disgustingly low tunings and no small amount of screeching feedback. The insanity and truth inherent in the mess of this group’s music shines throughout—indeed, the middle of “Neck in the Hemp” features a complete collapse of the song before an explosive return, which drives me wild every time. The sonic onslaught recorded on this record pure and honest in every way, and as always, super goddamn heavy.

            With Wrongdoers, it is wholly apparent that Norma Jean has spent some real time cultivating a sound so dynamic, it simultaneously encapsulates the sonic journeys of previous albums while maintaining an extremely distinct flavor of its own. After completing recording, Cory Brandan remarked on the new record that “we really pushed ourselves to do something really different while expanding on what we’ve done in the past.”[2] And while I always hate to place an album against its predecessors, with this one, the band deftly recalls old musical themes—or as Brandan calls it, “old school classic Norma Jean nastiness”[3]—and takes them farther than they had previously gone. For instance, “Hive Minds,” the record’s opener, features a long instrumental space reminiscent of Bless the Martyr & Kiss the Child, while “If You Got It at Five, You Got It at Fifty,” sounds like a b-side from the Redeemer days. Despite this, Wrongdoers maintains itself as the continued evolution of the band’s pounding voice. It is as soaked in the melodic melodies of later releases as it is driven by atonal, grindcore guitar that hasn’t really been heard since O’ God, the Aftermath. Brandan’s blatant juxtaposition of frank, beautiful vocals and guttural screams break ground that Norma Jean has only tasted previously, and the decision to focus the majority of the instrumentation in stomachable time signatures furthers this band’s foray into the melodic sector of hardcore, without sacrificing the fearsome voice for which they have always been known. 

            One of the most sonically interesting tunes from this record is the album’s closer, “Sun Dies, Blood Moon.” Clocking in at a little over fourteen minutes, it is an epic that effectively sums up the many themes and choices evident on Wrongdoers. Inherent in the tune are multiple references to the band’s previous work: the song is separated into two suites, a callback to O’ God, the Aftermath’s closer “Scientifiction,” and both the instrumental space and sheer length of the tune are highly reminiscent of the band’s first release. However, the definition in “Sun Dies, Blood Moon” obviously flows from the span of new sounds and approaches built into it. Opening with a clean guitar riff (practically a Norma Jean first), the heavy palm mutes and simmering vocals seem to be an apparent homage to Tool, and the small orchestra dominating the beginning of the second suite speaks to this band’s commitment to making interesting and meaningful music that is beyond themselves. Though the tune’s focus is melody from all angles, yet it lacks nothing of the grinding, heavy foundation this band has built itself upon, leaving “Sun Dies, Blood Moon” as a perfect amalgamation of everything that originally hooked me into this band and everything that keeps me craving more.

Check out this live amalgamation of "Sun Dies, Blood Moon" and "Disconnecktie" 

           Also groundbreaking for Norma Jean is Brandan’s performance, both vocally and lyrically. While the past couple of records have given him a taste of a singing voice, it is on Wrongdoers that he truly discovers how much that voice is worth. The album is an even mix between clean, sung melodies and heavy screams, and Brandan functions quite well in both realms, giving each style its due over the progression of their tunes.  “Sword in Mouth, Fire Eyes” is dominated by Brandan’s powerful and evocative melody, before transitioning into the brutal thrash-punk yells of “The Lash Whistled like a Singing Wind.” Accompanying the dynamo vocals are lyrics that, while not Brandan’s best, are consistently interesting and stuffed with raw emotion. Many of his phrases are straightforward, yet in some songs his word choices explode with originality, such as with the phrase “Unhand the knife drawer” in “Wrongdoers,”[4] while in others, he takes a cliché image completely reworks it, as in “Sword in Mouth, Fire Eyes:” “We calmly weigh our thoughts before we know them / Careful not to break our only scale.”[5] Many of these lines seem to focus angst and anger against the music industry, but Brandan’s images and allusions make this bloody pulp of a topic seem like a fresh corpse ready for beating—his comparison of a record company to giant man-eating plants through the title “Triffids” is brilliant in its brutal honesty.

            Although the lyrical content of Wrongdoers may be the weakest part of a strong record, Brandan and the rest of the band hit a grand slam in one particular tune. “Hive Minds,” the apocalyptic opener to the record, features music and verse that flow like pure poetry, painting an image of a world slowly being dominated by creeping vines. The tunes lyrics are the most solid on the record, as Brandan implores his listener to see the destruction slowly swallowing the world around him. His desperate vocals seem to writhe with energy, which is easily captured in his original approach to his lyrics. As in other tunes, he re-imagines a cliché into something light years better with his line: “Gravity may not be a law / but all things will find ground.” Furthermore, many of Brandan’s phrases, such as “change hungry hands” and “a sunset care ride with a bottle of meds” create such powerful images that they seem more worthy of a poem than a song, but his deathly screams assert that they belong to this saga alone. Mix that with a drawling instrumental bridge and a thunderous performance from all ends (especially Goose’s landmine drumming), and you have a monumental opener in “Hive Minds,” a sure sign that the end is indeed here, even if no one saw it coming.

"If You Got It at Five, You Got It at Fifty"

            With Wrongdoers, Norma Jean took a ton of risks. Between new sounds and an upheaval in the line-up, this record could be seen as hardly worth the title of a true release from this band. But spin this record one time and any doubt that what your hearing is Norma Jean will be erased. With this record, the band begins a move into a new era of music, one that Brandan calls “easily the most energetic.”[6] Wrongdoers is as brutal and honest as it gets from this group—it’s smart, it’s scary, it’s heavy, and it rocks. Embedded on this record is the simple truth of what a hard-working and fun-loving band is capable of, and if you haven’t picked it up yet, you are truly missing out.

Tunes to Check Out:

1) “‘The Potter Has No Hands’”

2) “Hive Minds”

3) “Triffids”

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[1] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pxFD6ecOg_w

[2] http://www.theprp.com/2013/03/13/news/norma-jeans-cory-brandan-says-new-album-will-feature-old-school-classic-norma-jean-nastiness/

[3] http://www.theprp.com/2013/03/13/news/norma-jeans-cory-brandan-says-new-album-will-feature-old-school-classic-norma-jean-nastiness/

[4] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/normajean/wrongdoers.html

[5] http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/normajean/swordinmouthfireeyes.html

[6] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eC0b7H12u3o