The result of a collaboration between two of the UK's finest collage composers is at turns kitschy and whimsical, disorienting and satirical: a suite of kitchen-sink plunderphonic pop tunes that recall the best moments of classic collagists such as Orchid Spangiafora, John Oswald and Die Trip Computer Die.
Vickie Bennett's People Like Us has always tended towards camp: cut-ups of cartoon noises, educational records from the 1950s, advertisements for Lycra Spandex, corny library music and generic soundtrack pieces ironically recalling a bygone era. So far, Ergo Phizmiz's strategy has been much the same, although his soundworld often takes in organic forms and original instrumentation, such as the brass band that enlivens many of his recent performances. Together, Bennett and Phizmiz create a Frankensteinian assemblage of strange cultural and temporal hybrids: mutilated oom-pah, demented intonarumori, Dixieland jazz blurts and slapstick noises. This much would have been expected, but what wasn't expected was that each of these loony patchworks would be massaged into fully-fledged, structured pop songs, complete with vocals by Bennett and Phizmiz.
Vocal plunderphonic pop does have precedents, but PLU and Ergo Phizmiz create something altogether unique on Perpetuum Mobile, occupying a stubborn middle place between avant-garde sound sculpture and populist pastiche. The opener "Ghosts Before Breakfast" is a case in point, a jaunty sing-along combining flatulent horns with Harry Partch-esque junk percussion, cuckoo clocks and digital fuckery. Over this joyous mess, helium-voiced falsettos sing: "I'd like some dinner, cause I missed my breakfast/I'm ever so hungry, and it's such a sunny day." It doesn't make much sense, but it's undeniably infectious, the layers of loops and samples creating a shambolic din that nonetheless coalesces into timeless pop songcraft. "Social Dancing" samples what sounds like recordings of indigenous children singing, matching the vocals up with Loony Tunes fanfares and retro Hawaiian jazz probably recorded for a 1950s tourist LP. The result is hilarious, but also fascinating: far more than the sum of its parts. It begs to be deconstructed and analyzed, even as it becomes clear that this analysis would reveal no logic behind its construction, beyond a painterly sense of composition.
Although PLU have been at this for years, the techniques of plunderphonia have, in recent years, become quite ubiquitous, especially in the world of HipHop and dance music. There are many recent plunderphonic acts operating under the guise of the mashup DJ or turntablist, using recycled loops from pop music and vintage LPs to produce collages that juxtapose the familiar with the surprising. The difference between these newer acts and Perpetuum Mobile, however, is that Bennett and Phizmiz seem genuinely uninterested in reproducing familiar pop cultural tropes, and instead seek to find ways to approach familiar sounds and musical modes laterally, highlighting not just their absurdity, but often their hidden political dimensions as well. "Air Hostess" repurposes goofy lounge music, splicing in Nelson Riddle's theme to Lolita, gradually ratcheting up the frenetic pace of the track with samples of bachelor pad mambo and 1950s MOR string records. The result is the kind of kitschy patchwork one might expect, but with an added undercurrent of dread, an atmosphere that emerges from the outmoded status of useless and vapid pop culture signifiers that have lost all meaning, if indeed they had any to begin with.
There is so much going on across the 18 tracks making up Perpetuum Mobile that it would be impossible to touch on everything, but suffice to say that this collaborative album is one of the best of its breed: full of audacious, kaleidescopic pop assemblages that slyly comment on the ephemeral nature of music as commodity.
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