Month: March 2016

Black Mountain: IV

Black Mountain IVBlack Mountain IV—the fourth album (obviously) from Northwestern stoners, Black Mountain—proves that the whole is greater than the parts. Black Mountain grabs your attention with fantastic songwriting, arranging, and orchestration and those qualities overshadow—in a good way—what are often stellar individual performances. IV leans heavy on contrasts, dynamics, and textures to create an overall mood that permeates the entire album. It’s a mood that adds cohesion throughout a varied—but not too varied—selection of songs.

Critics love to talk about Black Mountain’s obvious influences, but they’re missing the point. Black Mountain is not a ‘70s tribute band. Despite vintage gear and analog tones, they manage to carve out a sound that is fresh, modern, and uniquely theirs.

Not that those influences aren’t important. It might be lazy to compare Black Mountain to Black Sabbath (sorry, heavy riffs don’t mean you sound like Sabbath—heavy riffs are rock n roll), but other influences are more apparent. On IV, the big one is ‘70s Pink Floyd, which is thick in some places. Songs like “(Over and Over) The Chain” and “Space to Bakersfield” would be at home on Animals or Wish You Were Here. “Defector’s” chorus sounds a lot like “Young Lust” from The Wall. But comparisons to Floyd are only skin deep. While Floyd can get boring or whinny, Black Mountain have a brooding and depth that gets under your skin and makes their long jams strangely addictive.

But Black Mountain doesn’t jam per se—they aren’t the Dead. Black Mountain’s jams are compositional—they brood, build, and draw you in. IV’s few solos are compositional as well, they add additional layers and contribute to the oeuvre. And for the most part it works. The eight minute epics on the album—and there are a few of them—are wonderful hypnotic jams. They are great driving songs—great for staring out the window at the dotted lines passing by on the highway. Shorter songs break up those long pieces and give a nod to—of all things—‘80s alternative pop. Examples include the anthemic unison vocals and early punk guitar chords on “Florian Saucer Attack” and the Thomas Dolby-style synth stabs over the very ‘80s guitar ostinato on “Constellations.” But again, talking about influences obscures what is really Black Mountain’s secret sauce: careful arrangements and powerful orchestration.

The members of Black Mountain know when not to play. That’s a big deal. Guitarists and keyboardists often noodle for the sake of doing something. In Black Mountain, they sit out until needed—an extremely musical approach to arranging that makes each instrument’s impact more effective. The few guitar solos are a case in point. There aren’t many, but when they hit—like on “Mothers of the Sun”—they allow a brooding groove to climax and for the song’s tensions to resolve. It is a minimalist approach and shows unusual restraint for the sake of the song.

IV’s weakest link are its lyrics. “Ain’t no foolin’, we’re back in school. Ain’t no foolin’, when you’ve been fooled.” I mean, that’s some trite shit—but I am not sure if it matters. You don’t listen to Black Mountain for deep or clever lyrics. Black Mountain is a vibe. It’s a dark mood. You stare at the highway and forget about time. The vocals are another color and the words are something for the singer to do. (Although the lyrics in “Cemetery Breeding” are pretty funny.)

Sonically, IV is a tour de force. The guitar tones—from the opening riff on “Mothers of the Sun” to the end of the album—are meaty and ballsy. The synths and funky oscillations are awesome. The acoustics on “Line Them All Up” give Amber Webber a platform for a standout vocal performance. But ultimately, it’s the composition as a whole—the whole package—that makes IV stand out. It’s an album that sounds great on first listen, but even better as it grows on you. Has Black Mountain evolved since their 2005 eponymous release? I am not sure.

But I am not sure if that matters.

Bibio: A Mineral Love

Bibio A Mineral Love is the new album from Bibio, the moniker of producer, musician, and songwriter Stephen Wilkinson. Wilkinson—similar to Ruban Nielson (Unknown Mortal Orchestra) and Kevin Parker (Tame Impala)—is a lone wolf and works from home. He has the funding and time to hone sounds, refine arrangements, and fiddle with production until he’s crafted a near-perfect pop masterpiece. But unlike Nielson and Parker, Wilkinson doesn’t have a band or hit the road—he never leaves home—and being a homebody affords him the luxury to be prolific. A Mineral Love is his eighth full length release, in addition to three EPs and a small pile of remixes.

Wilkinson has a fascination with danceable pop from the late ‘70s and early ‘80s. His music exudes the feel and melodic sensibilities of artists like Prince, Hall and Oats, and Michael Jackson. Sly Stone’s influence is strong as well and on A Mineral Love is most apparent on the track, “Feeling” (the opening guitar jabs, sax line, and bass groove ooze Sly with abandon).

But Wilkinson’s real calling card is the gritty, crackling world of lo-fi. It’s an aesthetic he pushes to an extreme. He loves warbles—microtonal fluctuations that sound like a malfunctioning tape machine or dying turntable—they are a hallmark of his sound and are in abundance on A Mineral Love. “Petals,” the album’s opener, starts with a warbled guitar and is enhanced by a reversed melody line—also played on guitar. The effect is stunning. It sets a mellow yet slightly off-kilter tone that permeates throughout the album. From start to finish, A Mineral Love is awash in swoony oscillations, trippy textures, and crackling lo-fi noise, which compliment the clean guitar tones, synths, and timbre of his vocals.

The guitar playing is excellent on A Mineral Love as well. Wilkinson’s lines, although somewhat predictable, are song-appropriate—he isn’t a shredder—and his timbral choices are impeccable. The lone exception is the overdriven guitar sound on “Town & Country.” It over-emphasizes the diatonic nature of the guitar line and adds an unnecessary layer of cheese, which is unfortunate. But it’s a solitary glitch sampled from an otherwise rich and tasteful tonal pallet.

A Mineral Love has a subtle, low-key vibe, which deemphasizes some of the album’s extreme rhythmic play. “C’est La Vie,” for example, sits over a super-exaggerated swung eighth feel and gives the groove a stringy-stretchy bounce—a refreshing break from the metronome tight programed drum patches so common in mainstream pop. The drum and bass interaction on “Feeling” is another example. Their jerky interaction—particularly in relation to the faux snare backbeat—creates a push/pull that makes it difficult to find your footing. It’s subtle, but those surprises make A Mineral Love enjoyable. A few songs are without drums and again, that’s cool. The loopy guitar lines and backwards leads on “Petals” are driving and dynamic. The tight rhythmic interplay on “Saint Thomas” is almost edgy—proof you don’t need an obvious snare hit to create tension and propel a song forward.

But it isn’t all crunchy lo-fi and jerky rhythms, some songs are downright slick. “Why So Serious,” featuring Olivier Daysoul, with it’s period-correct ‘80s-style synth bass, could be an ode to the glory days of MTV. The guitars have that cool active Strat sound and bring to mind Adam Hann from the 1975. “Gasoline & Mirrors,” with Wax Stag, also boasts superior production—clean tones, a propelling groove, and handclaps as the song’s sole percussion.

A few songs, like “Raxeira,” (my favorite hook on the album) and “The Way You Talk,” have abrupt endings that sound incongruous in relation to the rest of the song. It’s a cool effect—the Beatles did it at the end of “Glass Onion” for example—but it’s overdone. Wilkinson uses it to change gears. Maybe he feels stuck—he doesn’t want to come up with a bridge or stick in a guitar solo—but a better arrangement would serve the song better.

But that’s a minor complaint—and I don’t know if it’s much of a complaint. A Mineral Love is a fantastic experience. It drops you in a trippy mellow world, challenges you in subtle ways, and rewards you if you make the effort to listen carefully.