SHELLAC – EXCELLENT
ITALIAN GREYHOUND (TOUCH AND GO)
There used to be a
sense of humour attached to Shellac (and indeed a lot of independent
alternative rock) that I fear has now long since gone and had its day.
This is a difficult
listen, purposely obtuse filled with many tripwires and potholes to disrupt the
flow of/for the listener. In many ways
this has always been what Shellac has been about but this time round it just
does not feel worth the effort.
Excellent Italian
Greyhound was their long awaited fourth studio album coming after a lengthy gap
between releases seemingly with view to keeping the object unique and
special. That’s the problem when your
reputation passes you and there is no need to keep plates spinning. An abundance of crockery does not a meal
make.
To risk sharing
cliché, this album is a grower.
Personally my gut instinct was genuinely the thought that in their
career they’ve gone from making “Wingwalker”
to making something so deliberately belligerent as this. Honestly that the results were not immediate
offended me.
Rather than open with
the brutality of “Prayer To God” or “My Black Ass”, Excellent Italian Greyhound
sees a return to the slow build opener with “The End Of Radio” and Bob Weston
relentlessly tugging at his bass in autistic fashion. The tone of the track is of an emergency
call. As Steve Albini regularly calls
“is this thing on?” he appears to be referencing many strands of reality. Easily it could be interpreted as a call to
arms, call to action with the slow movement of the music acting as a metaphor
for a generation’s lethargy. Finally at
the seven minute mark the machine that is Shellac has fired into action
emerging like a tightly spring having been released into the wild. This is their comedy.
With this the album
rears into life with “Steady As She Goes” a motoring more traditional type
Shellac song as a spiky pace attaches itself to proceedings and more personal,
scathing words are uttered. Healthily it
builds real momentum as a late eruption bursts through. Its keen if not crushing.
And then the record
stutters and becomes belligerent again as the stop start call and response of
“Be Prepared” breaks in. The track is
very Action Park (very “Dog And Pony Show”) only just not as good. At best it’s a test, at worst its cheesy. That said much like the best Shellac songs
the hook does become an earworm.
Maintaining a one off
one on song ratio “Elephant” coasts in springing fashion with a nice folding
formation. While Bob sings of lies
Albini mumbles spoken verses below. And
with such distraction you fail to notice when the music becomes solely a Todd Trainer
drumbeat backing the garbled sounds of two disgruntled indie rock elder
statesmen. This is breaking things down
to basics. An exercise in testing
nerves. Then when it rears back into
action it reminds me of Karate. Suddenly
what you are listening is first generation emo.
And we all know what that strand wound up like.
Further infuriating
things another nine minute track arrives in the form of “Genuine
Lullabelle”. Never let it be said
Shellac are strangers to a slow build.
Reminding of “Mama Gina” from 1000
Hurts it’s a track that grows but doesn’t necessarily mature. It adds up in a math rock motion but it is
hardly “Freebird”, more
free jazz in a jazz odyssey direction, not least when Ken Nordine makes an
appearance. This is not the blues.
I guess coherent song
structures previously tended to make the band sound like AC/DC so surrendering such things in theory
should propel the art of this album but instead it makes it less
accessible. This is akin to your
favourite teacher setting an exam that is impossible to complete with a passing
mark.
Things get worse as
the fantastically entitled “Kittypants” reveals itself as a glancing blow, very
Mogwai in
being the kind of instrumental filler that every post-rock album always
had. Suddenly Shellac no longer feel
like leaders, they feel like followers.
A late rally is
exhibited with the dense and meandering “Boycott” which possesses some bite before
penultimate track “Paco” proves an awkward and tempered five and a half minute
mathematical instrument(al). This band
was never supposed to be Slint. Put it on a seven-inch.
Tacked onto the end is
“Spoke” an old song from early on that they recorded for a Peel Session and
previously available nowhere else other than a bootleg seven inch and bad MP3s
until now. In execution it is short and
shouty remaining old and amazing having over time become a staple of their sets
and fine way to finish a show. Its
inclusion feels more out of request than desire, something reiterated by the
cheesy jingle that welcomes the song (a cover of the “Rotosound Strings” advert by The Who).
This version doesn’t pack the punch of the original BBC session but it
does at least end the record on an energetic high. A shot in the arm somewhere was needed.
I hate Excellent
Italian Greyhound for the way it makes me feel.
What do you do when your favourite band puts out an average album?
Thesaurus moment:
disobliging.
No comments:
Post a Comment