cover image It was inevitable that my quest for truly outlandish music would lead me to the deranged audio landscapes of Caroliner. Where my quest will lead me after exploring the many records in their unhinged ouvre I do not know. As for now I content myself with the warped cognitive dissonance they provide.

 

Nuf Sed

On the round LP sticker it says “please read enclosed lyrics, they are intrinsic to the music,” yet following along with the lyric sheet is a nearly impossible task. The music itself is so disconcerting that I have to read it in a quiet room after the record is played. Here and there a recognizable word is perceived, allowing me to figure out which song is which. It is clear that there are different songs but no blank spaces have been left between them. Lurking beneath the squall of autistic drums is the near constant hum of a disconcerting organ, bleating like a sheep who knows it is about to be sacrificed. Over top of it all are shrill vocals that sound like they were mixed from a warbling tape, alternately sped up and slowed down.

One of the high points on the album is “The Worst of Toys.” It begins with aggressive belching, a thick squeal, and continues into what sounds like the drunken rant of a hillbilly who is about to dish out a beating. It is a song emblematic of their aesthetic. Another is “Salt Lump” with its noisy electronics bursting out of their angry mangled bluegrass. The rhythms are all played in disjointed time signatures. Fiddles and guitars vie and struggle against each other in a battle for supremacy of volume. The mad lyricist shouts his pitch bent derangements over the inebriated squalor. The cacophonic drumming and weird swirls of flange and vibrato form the glue that binds the proceedings together. The album ends by spiraling into a locked groove of an unintelligible phrase to further the audio nausea.

Outside the sheer audacity and unpredictability of their music, what I find so intriguing about the legendary San Francisco group is the sense of mystery and mythology they weave about them. Revolving around the story of a singing bull from the 1800’s who bequeathed them their entire repertoire they have made a virtue out of their inscrutability. The disturbed cartoons on the packaging of the record, peculiar lyrics, and brash songs all work together to create a numinous cohesion that has the logic of dreams, which is part of its appeal.

This vinyl only album was released in 1993.

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