Their peculiar,eclectic recombinations of rock, dub and dance music idioms that seemedat once retrograde and startlingly new was truly something to behold,and Street Dad was one of the most cleverly arranged, performedand mixed albums in recent memory. Their music was buoyant, playful,and experimental; appealing on a cerebral as well as a visceral level:complex, cluttered, effects-heavy arrangements with a solid backbone ofrubbery basslines, resounding drums and uncannily clever rhythmprogramming. The debut album was so perfect that anything Out Hud didfor an encore was almost bound to disappoint on some level, though theycertainly have every right to grow and change as a band. The big riskthat Out Hud take with their sound on Let Us Never Speak Of It Againis obviously the introduction of vocals from Phyllis and Molly. Ontracks like "It's For You," the vocals have the effect of introducingfar more structure into an Out Hud song than we might have come toexpect, and the song is reduced to radio-friendly length. The dualfemale vocals, liberally dropped into the echo chamber, add a sweet,innocent sexuality to the music, akin to Tom Tom Club or the morerecent Chicks on Speed. At first I was disappointed by the vocaltracks, still wistfully recallling the weird, amorphous, kitchen sinkinstrumental approach on the first album. Much of that anarchic spiritis indeed alive and well on Let Us Never, but the album isunmistakably tighter and more restrained, a strategy that seems to payoff brilliantly, even if it seems alienating at first. Take for theexample a track like "Old Nude," with a meaningless vocal refrain thatimmediately places the listener in seemingly comfortable pop territory.But Out Hud have other things on their mind, placing the vocals into ahall of mirrors and using each cadence as a jumping-off point for theirjarring eclecticism: mid-80s Prince-style distorted synths rubbingshoulders with On U-Sound sound dynamics, with lots of little squiggly,digital details buried in the mix. Then Molly's trademark, expressiveArthur Russell cello comes into the mix, introducing the song'shaunting coda. All of this in the span of four and a half minutes; I'mimpressed. Of course, there are also some instrumentals here that soundlike they could have fit in perfectly on the first album. "The Song SoGood They Named it Thrice" picks up where "Dad, There's A LittlePhrase..." left off: a grandiose, unfolding musical drama that seems totake in the entire history of dance music in its scope, creating aninfectious and indescribably funky mix of early house, epicMoroderesque disco, motorik Krautrock and Detroit electro, togetherwith sudden, death-defying plunges into cavernous echo and distortion.The hilariously named "Mr. Bush" is the album's most epic track, andthe one that I've found myself returning to most often; an unstoppableleftfield rhythmic structure serves as a foundation for a series of OutHud-style variations on a theme, undertaken with the same vivacity andspirit of experimentation as early Chicago house, but ending up in anoddly beautiful, neoplastic discotheque of their own totallyidiosyncratic creation. Even though the album initially seemed to be anattempt to rope in a wider audience, after a few listens I couldclearly see that Out Hud are still flying their freak flag, makinggloriously incomprehensible music that is eminently danceable in spiteof itself.samples:
- It's For You
- How Long
- Dear Mr. Bush, There are over 100 words for shit and only 1 for Music. Fuck You, Out Hud
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