- Lucas Schleicher
- Albums and Singles
Greg Davis has illuminated the link between sound and light. Perhaps,when the universe was first unfolding, the explosions sounded like buzzsaws or pure white noise, but when the heavens came to be and from itsconvulsions the universe produced stars and angels, the sound generatedmust've been close to the music on Somnia.I hesitate to lump this record in with any group of individualscurrently practicing the Zen of protracted sound because Davis' musicflutters and ripples with hints of melody and harmony more so thanfound sounds or textured moments. This must be related to Davis'recording process: take one instrument per track, fool around with it,and then process the sounds produced by that instrument until there islittle or no resemblance between what comes out and what went in. Whileprocessing and editing has become a typical means of producingmeditative and molasses-like sounds, Davis manages to create somethingunique. The vibrations of these songs feel as though they are a slowcondensing, a trace of some event happening beyond our perception,beyond possible memory or direct experience. What is left, tracks like"Clouds as Edges (version 3 edit)" and "Campestral (version 2)," echo asentiment of impossibility: I want to reach through the process andback to the original sound. A sense of wonder and mystery is nearlyalways present when I hear a good drone record and Davis has addedemotional dimensions that work on a few levels. "Furnace" sweeps andrises with an incessant yearning that nearly erupts from between theseams of the accordion-like buzz that dominates the composition."Mirages (version 2)" is the most attention-grabbing track on thealbum, whispering and ringing softly as though it were a recording ofwind-chimes on an island not touched by any human individual. Thecascade of ideas and associations that swim and die within the soundsthemselves is infinite—the album takes on a life of its own and extendsthrough space like a slowly rattling thread, each moment evoking adifferent sense, and different thought, and a different sentiment. Tothe extent that this is a musical record, Davis shapes subtle andnearly fragile pieces teeming with beauty. To the extent that this is ameans of looking past the distinctions between energy, material, time,and light, Davis, perhaps unknowingly, provides medium capable ofshining a light on the existence that is beyond experience and tangiblesensation. -
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It is unfortunate for Matt Waldron (Irr.App.[Ext.]) that his reworking of the Angry Eelectric Finger raw material was alotted Volume Three status, as he has used many of the same sounds as Jim O'Rourke used in his Volume One. Although both albums are excellent listens, perhaps owing to the strength of the source material, both artists have done little alteration and their volumes sound a bit too similar at times.It is unclear whether or not they heard each other's works in progress, although I imagine that they did not. Waldron has started his "Part One" with the same ratchet sound and creepy drones that are a main feature of both the Raw Material LP and O'Rourke's volume. However, this version quickly gives way to a more chaotic and surreal environment, with chugging motor patterns ping-ponging around the stereo field. "Part Two" again treads similar ground to the O'Rourke version, in which both artists have included a large, unaltered section featuring interplay between saxophone, flute, and hand drums. Waldron has placed this section closer to the end of the piece, while O'Rourke introduced it near the beginning of "Part Two." Here Waldron's structure mirrors that of the Raw Material LP almost exactly. The first half of Mute Bell Extinction Process's "Part Two" is taken up by swirling psychedelic electronics, much as side two of Stapleton and Potter's raw material LP is. Perhaps Waldron's well-documented reverence for Nurse With Wound got in the way of his being more adventurous, or perhaps he felt that the source material was so strong that he didn't want to do more than give it a slight twist. This is, after all, the same man who released a CD of a version of Nurse With Wound's debut album, Chance Meeting on a Dissecting Table of a Sewing Machine and an Umbrella which he accidentally "remixed" by simply making a tape-to-tape copy of said album on defective tape machines.
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- Jim Siegel
- Albums and Singles
While O'Rourke presented an LP very much in a Nurse With Wound style,Cyclobe have obliterated most traces of Stapleton and Potter's rawmaterial and instead produced a freak out of frayed electronics thatsounds much closer to the work of their former colleagues in Coil.Although their "Part One" begins with sparse drones and eerie ambience,the stereo field soon becomes a battleground on which sharp bursts fromanalog synths whirr back and forth.Passages of extreme noise are balanced by menacing quiet sectionssuch as the last several minutes of "Part One." Some of the soundsappearing early on are so jagged and startling that these calmersections produce the same effect as the scenes in horror films in whichan intruder is waiting quietly behind a corner. It is no coincidencethat Cyclobe's Stephen Thrower was an integral member of Coil duringthe time they produced music for Hellraiser (referred to insome places as "too scary to be used in the film"). This album isinteresting for the insight it may provide into the working methods ofThrower and Ossian Brown as Cyclobe. By not directly referencing thesource material they may give us clues as to how they construct theirown music. Perhaps they always tend towards manipulating sourcematerial beyond recognition. The creaking ratchet sound that seems tobe the project's signature motif is audible here, as are the flute andsaxophone played by Xhol. However, they are merely hinted at underneathdense layers of sonic debris, and are only heard briefly. Cyclobe havetreated the source material as a starting point for producing acompelling new work that pays tribute to Nurse With Wound as much as itcements their reputation as being superb producers in their own right,regardless of their Coil associations.
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- Jim Siegel
- Albums and Singles
O'Rourke's version of Nurse With Wound's source material keeps veryclose to the spirit of a Nurse With Wound album. This is partly due tothe common reference points both artists share, but partly because itseems that he has used much of the raw material provided by Stapletonand Potter without changing it at all. Nurse With Wound and O'Rourkeare two of the few artists who can sustain interest while essentiallypresenting an entire LP side of creaking sounds set against doom ladenambient soundscapes.By gradually shifting the sound and by placing small gestures suchas the sounds of bells among the existing soundscapes O'Rourke hascreated a sense of tension in his "Part One." By the time a noisycrescendo occurs toward the end of this build-up it feels like a truerelease. He clearly shares Stapleton and Potter's sense of letting amood develop slowly, and the piece is stronger because so much is heldback for most of the piece. "Part Two" has a completely different feelwith the introduction of strings and has a more composed feel. It ishere that O'Rourke seems to have done the most work to shape the piece.This section recalls his early work with tape music and also referencesthe musique concrete that both he and Stapleton admire. As on the rawmaterial LP, this section is much more chaotic, with all manner ofsharp electronic sounds bouncing from left to right in the stereofield. O'Rourke introduces the section of saxophone, flute and handdrums played by members of Xhol Caravan earlier than it appers on theRaw Material LP. However, he hasn't done much to alter this materialeither. Since O'Rourke has a background as an accomplished composer,producer and musician, it is baffling why he hasn't made this albumsound more like the product of his own imagination.
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- Jim Siegel
- Albums and Singles
It's frustrating that one of the best Nurse With Wound albums in recentyears will probably slip through the cracks of formatting politics.Available to purchase only as a bonus vinyl LP with a pre-order of allthree collaborative albums, Raw Material-Zero Mixmay not be heard by many people. Although it was merely meant toprovide source material to be reworked by Jim O'Rourke, Cyclobe andIrr.App.(Ext.), this album should have been released on its own.Rather than sounding like a library of sounds and skeletons of ideas tobe fleshed out by other artists, this sounds like a finished, fullyformed statement. "Part One" is a side-long exploration of theinterplay between various creaking sounds and a steady blanket ofdrones. This piece recalls one aspect of their recent work,particularly the slowly developing atmospheric moods created with"Beware the African Mosquito (Ring Your Doorbell, Put You to Sleep)"from 2002's Man With the Woman Face and 2003's Salt Marie Celeste."Part Two" is in sharp contrast to "Part One's" exercise inunderstatement and tension building, as it embeds the same creakingsounds in a panoramic landscape. This section's nightmarish blasts ofsonic detritus are an aural representation of the Hell panel fromBosch's Garden of Earthly Delights. Toward the end of the piece thesounds of saxophone, flute and hand drums played by members of XholCaravan are introduced. These acoustic sounds don't sound out of placeamong the electronics that have so far domimnated the album. Betweenthese untreated acoustic sounds, the quiet tones and creaking ratchetsounds in "Part One" and the chaotic shards of noise in "Part Two,"Nurse With Wound has provided an impressive range of source material.Although Cyclobe's take on this material is a widely divergent escapeinto their outer-space freakout zone, O'Rourke and Irr.App.(Ext.) haveseemingly done little to further the ideas presented by Stapleton andPotter. It may have been more exciting if the project were taken in thedirection of actual collaborations between Nurse With Wound and each ofthese three artists, who are all good choices for such a task. All ofthese Angry Eelectric Finger LPs feature excellent design work,which is a step in the right direction for Beta-lactam Ring, whose pastreleases have often looked amateurish with regard to layout. It's ashame that this album was not given proper release status. Hopefully aCD reissue is in the works, as it would give a proper perspective tothe efforts of O'Rourke, Cyclobe and Irr.App.(Ext.).
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- Rob Devlin
- Albums and Singles
Though Ned Oldham has never needed to live under the shadow of hisfamily name — like it would be a bad thing if he did — he has recordedmusic with his brothers in a number of projects over the years,including his own The Anomoanon. This has helped shape the style of hismusic, but on Jojihe steps out large in his own direction, creating one of those recordsthat many will point to for years to come as the sound that defined theband and others in the genre.Paul Oldham is the only other family member involved and even thenonly at the recording board, but the rest of the group is the same oldreliables that have appeared with Oldham on and off for years,including songwriting foil Aram Stith. Together they've recorded abatch of songs in the classic bass-two guitar-drums format, with someextras here and there, and a style that transcends decades to become alost batch of recordings by some late sixties roots guitar rock outfit.Honestly, "Green Sea" could be played on KPIG in Prunedale, CA, next toJohn Fogerty and hippie pundits would scarcely notice, maybe fillingthe phone lines to ask who it is and didn't they open for Creedence ohso long ago. It's the sound of revolution, of people who've struggled,of simple stories about the girl who lived next door and the funnypeople who used to visit. Maybe none of those things, but that'scertainly the feel of this collection of tunes. There's buzzfrom the amps at quieter moments, au naturale, and harmonies that floatabove the chords to fill the room with words about teenagers swooning,running to the hills, not being a fool, and the power of one person.Oldham's voice is undoubtedly an inspiration of his family'straditional drawl, and yet cleaner and purer on some level and not aswarbly. He sings with the voice of a heartland troubadour, and hispassion can be felt in every note, with the voices that join himaugmenting the impact without overpowering it. The guitar noodling maybe the source of some of those jam band comparisons, but they'reoff-base without being offensive — just misinformed like the term"post-rock." "Down and Brown" is down and dirty, until it reaches itsplayful and meandering climax. The old school quasi-R&B groove of"Nowhere" is a definite highlight, with Oldham's ever clever lyricspunctuating the proceedings. The peak, though, is the "After ThanBefore"/"Wedding Song" pairing, with the first song sounding like ajoyous courtship, and the second laying back into a lazy but epic jauntabout the sanctities of a life spent together, and how others should bemade to remember and understand. In the middle of it all, it's clearthat Jojiis The Anomoanon at their peak, and a fine example of a band that'sjust hitting a stride that could last their whole lives.
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In July of 1983 the emaciated corpse of Cole Berlin, a world-weary lounge singer and occasional prostitute was discovered in his Chelsea Hotel apartment, an early victim of AIDS-related illness. He was 37 years old, and his passing from this world went largely unwept and unsung. None of his neighbors could have guessed that a decade earlier, Cole Berlin had been Jobriath, an internationally hyped glam diva and the world's first openly gay rock star.
Jobriath Salisbury was born Bruce Wayne Campbell, a classically trained piano prodigy from an early age, who joined a hippie rock ensemble called Pidgeon. There he was discovered by Jerry Brandt, who had previously signed such talented luminaries as Patti Smith, and, er, Barry Manilow. Brandt saw in Jobriath the opportunity to create a stateside equivalent of David Bowie, and wasted no time signing the youth to Elektra and recording a pair of albums that showcased Jobriath's songwriting skills and piano virtuosity, as well as his Broadway-style vocal flamboyance, complete with thinly veiled lyrical references to homosexual love, male prostitution and sadomasochism. Jobriath's songs were wrapped in cataclysmically huge arrangements including overwrought orchestral interludes and a bevy of female backup singers. Monumental space oddities like "Morning Star Ship" rubbed shoulders with emotive piano ballads like "Inside" and utterly bizarre, campy Jack Smith nightmares like "What A Pretty."
Although his two LPs sound amazing even today, he was inevitably viewed as a Bowie-come-lately by the music press, who cruelly dismissed the artist with a series of contemptuous gay jokes. The public, who had been initially interested in the hype surrounding Jobriath's outlandish costumes and confessed, unapologetic homosexuality, soon unleashed a backlash of ridicule and indifference upon the young man. And thus his LPs, treasured by many collectors (including me) as forgotten gems of the original glam era, went out of print for thirty years, with Elektra seemingly uninterested in reissuing them on CD.
Luckily for those not willing to shell out hundreds for the original LPs, everyone's favorite Mancunian miserablist Morrissey has decided to lead the Jobriath revival by releasing Lonely Planet Boy on his Attack label. Boy is a compilation of tracks from Jobriath's two albums, plus an unreleased track from the artist's permanently shelved third album. Though the Moz could easily have fit both albums, in their entirety, on one disc (including the bonus track), he has decided instead to reshuffle the albums and leave a few tracks out. It's an unfortunate choice, as this is the only Jobriath reissue the world is likely to see. Still, it's hard to complain when the music itself has been so lovingly remastered, the deluxe packaging filled with affectionate, informative liner notes and loads of rare pictures (including some nudie cuties of the diva himself). Lonely Planet Boy has given me the chance to experience anew such amazingly rendered miniature glam epics as "I'maman" and "Inside," and mourn the tragic unsung passing of such a bright, shining, ephemeral superstar.
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Load
Sightings are keeping music dangerous. At a recent local liveappearance guitarist Mark Morgan was not ready to hit the stage untilhe was almost unable to walk through the crowd without falling over. Arrived in Goldis the sound of a band unafraid to shred the rock 'n' roll rulebooklike so much cheese going through a grater. They are capable of beingeither a devastatingly intense noise outfit or a kick-ass rock 'n' rollband, but their strength is in combining the two approaches. Althoughtrack three, "Odds On," hints at a linear structure, not until thefourth track does anything resembling a "song" appear. Because thefirst three tracks are so abstract and fragmented, "Internal Compass"sounds all the more powerful with its chugging guitar and drumspattern. It's like a train is on an express through the eardrum canals,not stopping for pedestrians. On "Sugar Sediment," the rhythm sectionis locked into a steady, rolling groove, yet the guitar sounds morelike a chainsaw than a melody making instrument. This tension is whatkeeps the music so exciting. Rather than merely relying on trendyelectronics for strange sounds, Sightings achieve a much tougher goalby producing foreign sounds on familiar instruments. They often lockinto live patterns that sound looped, such as on "Switching toJudgement." As a whole, Arrived in Gold has just the rightproduction quality, sounding raw and spontaneous without soundingamateurish. The full spectrum of frequencies is certainly representedduring "One Out Of Ten," in which throbbing bass and screechinghigh-end guitar are simultaneously competing to deafen. All of theinstruments are clearly audible at all times, yet the set maintains apleasant grittiness throughout. Ten minute album closer "Arrived InGold, Arrived In Smoke" is a perfect distillation of all of theseelements. During the first five minutes Sightings gradually buildlayers of grinding, repetitive patterns until they arrive at all-outfeedback mayhem. The remaining five minutes of sparse pitter-patterelectronics and rumbling guitar feedback are a necessary come-down fromthe intensity of the album's preceding 33 minutes.
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Stones Throw Records
In the years since his near-miraculous rediscovery in 2002, the author of 1977's cry for help You Think You Really Know Mehas taken time off from his busy porn bookstore clerking duties torecord a second collection of fear and loathing ridden love songs. Forthe uninitiated, Gary Wilson is Endicott, NY's ("A very, VERY smalltown," as if that is ever an excuse) favorite poster boy for neurosis.A legitimate musical phenomenon in his youth, he was proficient withmultiple instruments at the age of eight and collaborated with avantgarde composer John Cage before the age of 16. But by the time GaryWilson and the Blind Dates joined the burgeoning new-wave/punk scene inNYC, something happened: no one knew what to make of Wilson or hismusic. Appearing on stage wrapped in cling film and occasionallyaccompanied by mannequins, the Blind Dates would tear through theirbizarre setlist stopping only to cover Gary in flour and milk,dismember their mannequins, or to destroy their equipment. Frustratedby New York's head-scratching response, Wilson retreated to hisparents' basement with a four track recorder and no small amount ofrepressed sexual energy to record You Think You Really Know Me, a stinging rebuke to any who professed that they did. The album'smere survival is a story in itself. By his own admission, most of the600 copies pressed were smashed over Wilson's forehead at shows. Soonafter the album's release, Wilson packed up and left small townEndicott and literally vanished, dropping off the scene entirely.Thanks to near-constant exposure on underground radio and a fewcelebrity endorsements, his legend lived on until he was uncovered inSan Diego at the turn of the milennium, playing in a house band at anItalian restaraunt and sitting behind the bulletproof glass at anallnight adult bookstore. After playing sold out shows in LA and NewYork and even releasing a film documentary, Wilson finally releases Mary Had Brown Hair,the follow-up to his cellar opus. Gone are his testosterone-fueledbellows, his uniquely organic synthesized grooves and any vestiges ofthe delightful soul/punk/funk blend that could get anyone up and movingand singing along to lyrics that are at times near-psychotic. Now mostof the 14 original tracks on Mary Had Brown Hair (the album also includes two pre-You Think You Really Know Mecuts, "original" versions of "Chromium Bitch" and a less freaky, morepsychedelic cut of the trademark "6.4 = Make Out") are backed by aCasio keyboard, playful but not particularly challenging orinteresting. Worse yet a simple drum track keeps the time for most ofthe album's 30 minutes, a marked departure from his earlier technique(though it might not have been worthy of John Bonham, Wilson wouldstill do his own drumming). Wilson's disco-era voice, scary andmesmerizing, has devolved into a warbly whine, showing the effect theyears have had on Wilson both physically and mentally. In some tracks,it is sped-up to provide a sort of duet. (Gary conversing with hisinner demons?) The bravado on You Think You Really Know Me isnow but a vague memory, perhaps just a defensive front all along. Onecould hardly imagine the swaggering Wilson of 1977 lamenting "GaryWilson feels so bad/Gary Wilson feels real sad for you/Cause you're allalone." It appears that when Wilson packed up and left Endicott, he wastrying to leave something behind, and failed miserably. Hisdemons—whatever they were, lost loves, departed lovers, the kiss neverdelivered, a cute girl he saw on the bus—have followed him, and theirheads are reared for the world to see on Mary Had Brown Hair .Now Wilson, 18 years old, balding, his voice receding, is "all alone towalk the streets of Endicott all by myself." Whatever his personalfailings may be, they are immaterial to the listener, as Wilson'steeming musical genius shines vibrantly throughout all of Mary Had Brown Hair.The hooks are infectious, the choruses are the weirdest lines you willever find yourself singing along to, and Wilson is still a skilled handat guitar and keys. 27 years later, I am forced to admit that Wilsondoes indeed "still got it," though what "it" is remains an enigma: justthe way Gary likes it.
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Companion
This album is a true oddity even by outsider music, vanity-pressstandards. Recorded and released in 1974 by Charlie Tweddle, a Kentuckynative and metaphysical haberdasher, the album encompassesintrospective Dylanesque folk, Appalachian music, psychedelia, fieldrecordings and radical tape experimentation. Tweddle was an art-schooldropout and an ex-member of Kansas City garage band The Prophets ofParadise when he decided to embark on a three-year lysergic tourthrough Haight-Ashbury. When he returned, his head still full of acid,he became convinced that he was a real life prophet with the mission ofbringing his peculiar brand of primitive hillbilly concrete psych tothe world. And so he got together with six guys that look like extrasfrom The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and recorded an LP combining hisoff-kilter songwriting with sudden, frightening excursions intoalarmingly atmospheric tape music. He dubbed the prophet part ofhimself Eilrahc Elddewt (Charlie Tweddle backwards) and wrote someastoundingly boastful liner notes: "Eilrahc is to music what Christ isto religion. This album will reach into the dustbins of your mind." Thealbum definitely reaches into something, but it's not my mind, it's adeep toybox of warped, drug-addled insanity. The opening track soundsinnocuous enough, a low-fidelity recording of a Dylan-influenced folksong, but soon there are strange things afoot: odd time signatures,strange tape effects, weird percussion. The second track, which I willcall "Hot Tamales" (all eight tracks are untitled), takes a jauntyTex-Mex tune and distorts it with sudden launches of time-compressedmariachi music. On track four, Tweddle and his pals perform aprimitive, ramshackle rendition of the gospel standard "This World IsNot My Home" (Incredible String Fans take note), adding a soundtrack ofchirping crickets to the background. Tweddle's obsession with UFOsreaches a nightmarish zenith on track six, which distorts fieldrecordings of seagulls into a menacing alien noise, while Tweddlenarrates his close encounter story: "In the darkness of the night, alight came dropping from above...The ship was landing on the shore/Andcoming from the ship...three creatures pointed to the sea...as youenter from beneath the ship, the figures follow you/It was a night oflove/You stood gazing into the eyes of your future/As the sea sang thesong with no words." The lysergic vocal mutations are dizzying, andadding to the confusion, Tweddle's narration competes with a recordingof himself playing "Blue Bonnet Lane." I figured that was about asstrange as this album could get, until I reached track eight, which isa 22-minute field recording of crickets chirping on a still, peacefulcountry night, as music plays in a far distant background. It's anabsolutely haunting end to one of the most idiosyncratic non-Jandekworks of outsider music I've ever heard. Companion Records does a greatjob with reissuing a record that was previously only available to themost diligent flea market crate diggers, adding six bonus tracks ofequally inventive music by Tweddle and retaining the original design ofthe packaging. Just when I think it's safe to be completely jaded anddisillusioned by the glut of over-hyped reissues of vinyl artifacts,along comes an album like Fantastic Greatest Hits, forcing me to wonder what other bits of unhinged genius might be hiding out there in history's dustbin.
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LTM
The Room thrived in the late 1980s and embraced a variety of sounds:British new wave, jangle pop, alt-pop, and others. One of the hallmarksof the original In Evil HourLP was that it was originally produced by Tom Verlaine but this onlyprovides a minor understanding of the disparate sounds contained. Theopener, "A Shirt Of Fire," sparks the album with a panoply of layeredand melodic guitar lines and breathy vocals. The chorus of the songconcludes each time with an utterly compelling tempo change,transitioning from a brisk sprint to a deliberate and contemplativewaltz, guitars all the while mimicking the pace. After the downshift,the song then collects itself back into the original tempo with anascending wall of frantically-strummed guitar. "A Shirt Of Fire"instantly recalls bands like Echo and the Bunnymen and The Chameleons.The similarities persist throughout the album, as well. Signaturebreathy vocals, the angularity of the guitars, and imploring lyrics areall distinctly Echoey and Bunnyish at the same time. Perhaps thepremier song on this collection is the tingly "New Dreams For Old." Thesong is prudently represented twice, once as the original album cut andthen as a version featuring horns from a 7-inch release. Both times, itis impossible to deny the brilliance of the song. The first 20 secondsare enough to turn heads: a shimmery guitar intro is swept up by anorgan almost too soon and sure enough everything else thereafter fallsinto place. The rest is pure Brit-pop, reminiscent of Britain's finestlabels who peddled such sounds: Sarah, Creation, 53rd + 3rd, Subway. Onthe contrary, the worst moments come when The Room acquiesce to atemptation which corrupted many of their Brit-pop contemporaries. Theintroduction of lounge music into indie Brit-pop was a truly abhorrentdevelopment which cauterized some unlucky alt-pop bands, largelyBritish, in the late 1980s and early 1990s—and it wasn't just Brit-popwhich suffered under this detestable hybridization. By the mid 1990s,trip-hop, acid jazz, and a host of other musical subgenres popped upwhich had lounge music as their root evil. Even hermetic hip-hop had aperhaps less noxious flirtation with lounge, seen in bands like DigablePlanets. Along those same lines, The Room were not savvy enough toresist the urge of lounge music in some of their compositions. Songslike "Numb" and "Never" are Bossa Novean belchings which sound likesomething Getz and Gilberto might have coughed up in their bettermoments. It could be that The Room were merely partaking in thatuniversal pastime to which all bands are eventually drawn, what mostwill call "growing as a band and maturing musically." Generally, thisis just obfuscation for an unfortunate divergence from a well-honedsound in favor of a less-palateable direction. Such is the case here.Thankfully, the lounginess tends to pop up only in the later material,songs which were taken from the Clear! EP. Intermingled withthese rather disappointing cuts are crisper songs which areunassailably new wave ("The Ride," for instance) and have a much easiertime meshing with the overall sound of The Room. In the end, the powerof the jangle and synthesizers is largely able to dissipate all that issmoky, jazzy, and upholstered with plush red velvet from The Room.
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