Back to Metroland's Home Page!
 Site Search
   Search Metroland.Net
 Classifieds
   View Classified Ads
   Place a Classified Ad
 Personals
   Online Personals
   Place A Print Ad
 Columns & Opinions
   Comment
   Looking Up
   Reckonings
   Opinion
   Letters
   Rapp On This
 News & Features
   Newsfront
   Features
   What a Week
   Loose Ends
 Lifestyles
   This Week's Review
   The Dining Guide
   Leftovers
   Scenery
   Tech Life
 Cinema & Video
   Weekly Reviews
   The Movie Schedule
 Music
   Listen Here
   Live
   Recordings
   Noteworthy
 Arts
   Theater
   Dance
   Art
   Classical
   Books
   Art Murmur
 Calendar
   Night & Day
   Event Listings
 AccuWeather
 About Metroland
   Where We Are
   Who We Are
   What We Do
   Work For Us
   Place An Ad

Inward Eyes

By Josh Potter

Dan Deacon

Bromst (Carpark)

Near the end of Kill Your Idols, a documentary following the legacy of the No Wave movement of the late ’70s, one commentator jokes that the next step for truly progressive music will have to be a sort of yes wave. While there’s nothing to suggest that Dan Deacon is actually operating under these pretenses, Bromst may make the strongest case that such times are upon us. Owing to his roots in electro-acoustic and computer music, Deacon operates with a postexperimental imperative to utilize oddity for deliberate, positive returns: namely, to make you shake your skin off. With giddy, uptempo hooks, Reichian xylophone figures courtesy of So Percussion, chipmunk vocals, chanting reminiscent of Balinese Kecak, and absolutely manic drumming, Bromst nods more to Talking Heads and Kraftwerk than Deacon’s early influences in 20th century art music. Unhinged yet always consonant, Bromst gives Animal Collective’s latest a run for supremacy in the weird world of ecstatic music.

Tobacco

Fucked Up Friends (Anticon)

Remember the scene in The Dark Knight when Batman knocks the Joker in the head before interrogating him, and the Joker warns that such tactics only make the rest of the process fuzzy and painless? It’s in this post-clout delirium, full of woozy dreams and “Hairy Candy,” that the Black Moth Super Rainbow frontman wages his boom-bap solo project. More bap than boom, these instrumentals (with an occasional lyrical return to Tobacco’s trusty vocoder) take BMSR’s feverish psychedelia to new levels of violence—the kind that makes you wonder if you’ve been harboring masochistic urges underneath your Sunday best. Each track sounds like Air stapled to El-P, and Aesop Rock even shows up to offer glib insight into topiary apes (or something). Tie this one around your neck and let the synthesizers have their way with your synapses.

—J.P.

The Flaming Lips

Christmas on Mars (Warner Bros.)

As perfectly unlikely as it was that the Flaming Lips would shoot a sci-fi Christmas flick and record its score to begin with, the fact that this review arrives after the holidays should be moot. As anyone who caught the long-awaited film can attest (and as Lips fans should have expected), the Christmas theme was nebulous from the start. Without spoiling anything for anyone, the silent Martian Wayne Coyne essentially saves a human outpost by allowing himself to be paraded around as St. Nick. Befitting the self-conscious B movie, the band put together a self-consciously campy soundtrack with all the timpani and choir swells you could hope for. Abstract in a manner the band hadn’t yet attempted, this one could be their sort of “Atom Heart Mother” suite. Spurning all rock instrumentation, the album functions (onscreen and off) much like “Also Sprach Zarathustra.” Thus, it’s not likely you’ll see any of this stuff performed in mascot suits, drenched in fake blood, accompanied by strippers anytime soon.

—J.P.

Pit Er Pat

High Time (Thrill Jockey)

It’s a wonder that, with the Internet and all, we still talk about there being six degrees of separation between cultural touchstones. All it takes is a click or two to discover Chicago group Pit Er Pat in the sort of Web nebulae that encompasses bands like Tortoise, the Sea and Cake, and Icy Demons. Like the aforementioned, Pit Er Pat spin groove-based music that makes a foggy mind less so. Theirs is a sort of low(er)-fi dub that relies less on studio trickery and reggae tropes than patient lamentation and analog penitence. High Time is a few months old, but its brittle grooves, supplemented by modest guitar riffs, bells, gongs, and an abbreviated horn section, make for perfect hibernal listening. Without the sort of spatial pocket such music usually creates, the effect is more escapist than it is introspective. Don’t worry; there’ll be plenty of sunshine to bask in a couple months down the road.

—J.P.

 

 


Send A Letter to Our Editor
Back Home
   
 
 
Copyright © 2002 Lou Communications, Inc., 419 Madison Ave., Albany, NY 12210. All rights reserved.