The Tupac Shakur of dissonant Islamic dub, death hasn’t slowed down Bryn Jones, who has still been prolific for over a decade after he passed away. The 11 tracks on this LP and 12" set are all from his most prolific period in 1997. Unsurprisingly, this is Muslimgauze by the numbers that does nothing drastically different or innovative than the slew of other releases from the era, and thus is really only recommendable for hardcore zealots and the dabbler who hasn't picked up an album from Jones in awhile.
The first of the two heavy slabs of vinyl in here is the actual LP, and it opens with "Muslim Brotherhood," which is undeniably Muslimgauze with its fuzzed out tablas, tortured violins, and low, dubby bass that can work a subwoofer over something proper. And it wouldn’t be Muslimgauze without a sizable portion of random tape stops and stutters. "Kashmiri Queens" is similar with its tapes of Middle Eastern horns and skittering fragments of rhythm.
The title track is a more complex mish-mash of hip-hop beats, rattlesnake hisses, and bizarre blips, and "Rabid Zionist Dog Muzzle" also brings the rhythm in the form of heavily distorted electronic drums and random sound collages. "Dogheadgod" also showcases a wonderful steady rhythm that is complimented by a slow, heavy bass line that rivals anything from most dub recordings in the past 20 years.
The two tracks on the 12" that is included are a bit more varied, but again, nothing that is going to shock or amaze. "Elect Izlamic Jihad" is all pegged out to the point of clipping drums, echoed beeps, and fragments of voice that have more of a layered, collage feel to them. On the flip side, "Dimple Kapadia Mumbai" (I think I got an email with that subject line selling me penis pills the other day) has a thick grimy layer of vinyl surface noise atop the usual beats and voice samples.
Unfortunately the most captivating tracks are simply too short. "Zion Junkie," for example, has a locked steady rhythm and junk percussion that just has a different feel to it from the usual distortion and tablas. "Gaza Strip" also goes a bit off on its own tangent, with cut up harmonica and pots & pans percussion, and field recordings mixed together to unique effect.
It’s not fair to expect any drastic developments or variations on this sort of archival recording, but Cobra Head Soup is sonically interchangeable with so many other albums from Jones. It is not a bad release by any means, but the casual fan (such as myself) wouldn’t be doing themselves a disservice by passing on it.
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